Baby Love
by ReniB
Summary: Giles returns from England--and just in the nick of time, as the Trio's latest Evil Plan goes awry, returning four of the Scoobies to the little hellions they once were. Can Buffy and Giles--with a little help from Dawn--manage to care for four three-year
1. Of the TrioAnd the Quartet

Disclaimer I do not own these characters. I do not own any of the names, places, or books referenced in the story. I do not own anything—it all belongs to Mutant Enemy. (Except the bit that belongs to Douglas Adams.) I merely borrowed them because, as Willow would say, "We don't have cable, so we have to make our own fun." No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Note This idea came from a challenge I read some time ago which called for several Scoobies to be turned into toddlers. The concept was too cute to ignore, so I've been playing around with it. The challenge is # 14 at ODD, for anyone who is curious.

Thanks Thanks to Michamon, who found the original challenge for me, back when all I knew was that this was "some challenge I saw somewhere". Many, many thanks to Adele, my fabulous beta, without whom this story would have been a mess. Thanks also to mrsdrake—for everything.

**Chapter One**

**Of the Trio—and the Quartet**

"Guys!" Warren's voice abruptly cut into Andrew and Jonathan's bickering, stopping them in their tracks. There was no small bit of awe in their erstwhile leader's voice when he said quietly, "The _Starship Titanic_ is complete."

"The _Starship Titanic?_" Andrew asked blankly.

Jonathan shot him a withering look. "Yeah. _Spontaneous Massive Existence Failure_…dude, don't you ever _read_?"

Andrew bristled. "I get the joke," he retorted defensively. "I just wish somebody would have told me we changed the name—I thought we were calling it the _Terminator_." He pointed an accusing finger at Jonathan. "You never tell me anything!"

Warren rolled his eyes, and interrupted the seemingly endless flow of irritating nonsense. How had he ever gotten hooked up with these losers to begin with?

"It doesn't matter what we _call_ it," he pointed out, clearly annoyed. "All that matters is that it works. We point it at the Slayer, activate the Deceleration Beam, and poof! She starts regressing, and within sixty seconds, she pops out of existence and we all go home happy."

Andrew looked awed, in spite of himself. "We actually did it? We found a way to…to _de-age_ someone?"

Disgustedly, Warren eyed his two partners in crime. "Well, _I_ did it, if you want to get technical."

"We helped, and you know it!" Jonathan's petulance was briefly overwhelmed by his own awe. "Hey! Not only does this thing solve our Slayer problem, but do you guys realize we've actually invented the fountain of _youth_?"

"The _gun_ of youth," Andrew retorted loftily.

"The _gun_ of youth?" Jonathan repeated. "How dumb does _that_ sound?"

Warren sighed, cutting the pair of them off before they could get back to bickering. "Let's just go _use_ it, okay?"

* * *

Buffy paced the living room nervously. Behind her, the entire group had gathered. It was almost time. The cab should be arriving any minute.

Giles was almost home.

Even though he hadn't told her why he was coming, in so many words, she _knew_. Giles, here on Council business—it could only mean one thing. He was going to ask her to let the Council give her a new Watcher. The thought made her feel ill. _Giles_ was her Watcher—her _only_ Watcher—and she had told the Council so, every single time they had called. Now, apparently, they were pulling out the big guns. Sending back the one man who might—just _might_—be able to convince her to let them do it.

What really made her feel sick was that Giles was clearly going along with this. When he'd left, she'd been so empty inside that she could barely stand it. She'd screwed up—even more than she'd been screwing up before he left, which was saying something. She couldn't help it…it felt like she'd lost the one constant thing in her life.

But in her heart, she had always believed he'd be back. He belonged to her, just like she belonged to him. She was _his_ Slayer. He hadn't left her when the Council had tried to force Wesley down her throat, and she'd thought he was with her on this. They were a team.

They were _supposed_ to be a team.

She should have hated him for it, but she couldn't. She was too happy he was coming home. Even if just for a little while. Now, if only she could figure out how to keep him here…she could stall, she supposed. Pretend to be considering the Council's proposition. That might work for awhile—

Car lights flashed in the distance, and Buffy stiffened. It was time.

"He's here," she told the others, and headed for the front door. She could hear the group crowding around the window, nearly as excited as she was to see the missing member of their group again. It just didn't feel like home here without him.

"I'm going to get tea!" Dawn announced, disappearing into the kitchen with an eagerness that made Buffy smile. Not that long ago, the younger Summers sister hadn't even _liked_ the Watcher that much.

She opened the door and stepped out onto the porch, leaving the others to their window. Closing the door behind her, she waited silently, nervously, in the shadows of the front porch. The cab pulled up against the curb. Buffy's heart pounded.

In her excitement, she failed to notice the three shadows across the street, all trying—and failing—to hide behind one slender tree.

* * *

"That's her, in the window," Andrew pointed, his whisper sounding loud in the darkness. "Hurry, before the cab driver sees us!"

Warren aimed the bulky gun steadily at the blonde form in the middle of the window.

"Will we hit the others?" Jonathan asked anxiously.

"Who cares?" Warren demanded in a harsh whisper. "The important thing is that we hit the Slayer. We're sure that's her?"

Andrew nodded violently. "The blonde one."

"There are two 'blonde ones'," Jonathan pointed out heatedly. "Which one?"

This gave Andrew a moment's pause. "The one in the middle," he said finally. "I'm sure of it."

A faint movement to the right of the window caught Jonathan's attention. A blonde head, he thought—a cold feeling settled into his stomach.

"Guys, wait—" he began, but a low hum filled the air and beam of blue-white light shot from the end of the gun, aimed straight at the window across the way.

The blonde head whipped around, staring wide-eyed at the beam of light, and Jonathan's worst fears were realized.

"It's the Slayer!" he whispered urgently. "You're shooting the wrong…" Warren wasn't listening. Angrily, Jonathan shoved him, causing the beam of light to jerk violently around for a moment, then stop. The Slayer was already on her way across the street.

"It wasn't _long enough_!" Warren whirled on Jonathan, rage pouring off him in waves. "We didn't _finish_!"

Normally, the sight of Warren so angry would terrify Jonathan, but right now there was something far more terrifying on the way. "You shot the wrong girl," Jonathan muttered, shoving the other two away from the tree. "Now, _run_!"

It took only a moment for his words to sink in, and with horrified glances at the oncoming Slayer, they obeyed, fleeing into the darkness of the night.

* * *

Buffy reached the spot where the three shadows had been, but they were gone. In the distance, she could hear retreating footsteps, and she knew if she gave chase, she could catch them. She glanced at the window. What had they done? She didn't see the others anymore.

Her heart froze. Had that light-thing hurt the gang?

Abandoning the chase, she darted for the house. Giles, already out of the cab and running, himself, met her on the porch.

"What happened?" he demanded, and Buffy could only shake her head as she flew past him and opened the door.

"I-I don't know."

The sound of childish screams in the living room stopped them both in their tracks, but only for a moment. Skidding through the door and around the corner, Buffy gasped.

Four tiny toddlers gazed back up at her in abject terror, tears streaming down their cheeks.

Dawn stood in the corner, thankfully full-sized, her eyes as wide as saucers. "Buffy," she whispered. "What happened?"

"Dear Lord," breathed Giles from behind Buffy's shoulder. "Are—are those…?"

"It's them," Buffy said flatly, staring at the children's clothes. Each kid stood in a pool of adult clothing, pants puddled on the floor around their feet, giant shirts hanging from their minute frames. As she watched, tiny Xander tried to take a step forward, tripped over the pants he was standing in, and hit the floor with a thump. His lips quivered, big brown eyes brimming with tears, for one suspended moment before the wail broke out.

"Dawn, did you—did you see anything?" Giles couldn't take his eyes off the miniature Scoobies. His voice sounded weak.

"I was in the kitchen!" Dawn cried. "I saw what looked like lightning coming from the living room. Then…then they started crying, and I—"

"It's okay." Buffy squared her shoulders, which suddenly felt heavy. She took a step closer to the nearest toddler, little redheaded Willow, weeping pitifully into her hands. "Willow, sweetie," she said, very softly, "it's all right. We'll fix this."

Taking her cue from Buffy, Dawn nodded, kneeling on the floor next to Xander. She helped him gently to his feet. "Xander?" she asked softly.

Traumatized, Xander chose that moment to have a little accident on the rug.

Buffy sighed.

"Giles," she said, quietly, so as not to upset the children any further. "I need you to go to the store, okay? The keys to the Jeep are hanging by the door—we need diapers."

"D-diapers?" Giles actually took a step backward. "W-wouldn't it be better if…if _you_ took care of…of…_that?_"

Buffy grinned in spite of herself. "I could, I guess. That means you'll have to give Xander here a bath…"

Giles gulped and grabbed the keys in a flash. "What…I mean, what _kind?_ Are there…are there sizes?"

"You probably want the pull-up kind. They look about three…maybe. Anyway, I'd guess they're at least partially potty-trained. Wouldn't you say so, Dawn?"

Dawn nodded hesitantly. "Janice has a niece who's about three. It looks right. She's…she's potty-training now."

"Ask the saleslady to help you with sizes if they don't go by age," Buffy advised him.

With a dazed nod, Giles fled.

Buffy gazed at her sister over the heads of their tiny friends. "You want to watch these three? Or give Xander the bath?"

Anya, who had, until this point, been content to stand still and wail at the top of her lungs, suddenly quieted. "Baff?" she asked hopefully. Buffy raised an eyebrow.

Before she could decide how to handle this new wrinkle, Willow's teary eyes peeked out from between her hands. "Baff," she murmured soggily.

Dawn was staring helplessly at Buffy, clearly waiting for instructions.

"All right," Buffy capitulated doubtfully. "Bath-time for everybody. Dawn, we're going to need T-shirts for them to sleep in. The smallest you've got. I'm aiming for B-E-D-time after the bath. Okay?"

Nodding violently, Dawn raced off up the stairs, clearly happy to have something concrete to do in the face of this new and bizarre Hellmouth situation.

Buffy gazed at the foursome before her in dismay. "I guess it's just the five of us, then, huh, guys?"

Face still streaked with tears, Xander smiled brightly. Buffy chuckled. They really were almost painfully cute.

* * *

Dawn steered clear of the bathroom, feeling vaguely guilty about deserting her sister. To compensate, she kept herself busy. Buffy's room had the closet that locked at the top, so that was where she decided to put the kids. The bed looked plenty big enough for the four of them.

Setting herself to the task of child-proofing the bedroom, she ducked into the basement and returned with two large boxes. Rapidly, she swept all of her sister's knickknacks, photos, and jewelry into the boxes, clearing every single surface in the room. She tucked the boxes into the closet, slid the latch home, and, in a moment of inspiration, locked the weapons chest in the corner, then pushed it out and into Willow and Tara's room. Couldn't be too safe, she figured.

Once the room was bare of kid-unfriendly stuff, she turned her attention to the bed. Shoving it into the corner, she managed to block off two sides of it, but she didn't know what to do about the other two. Finally, she pushed Buffy's desk against the foot of the bed, forming a sort of three-walled crib, and placed four pillows, longwise, along the bed, leaving the free side for their feet. There, she thought proudly, surveying the makeshift crib. At least none of them should be able to roll out of bed in their sleep.

She wasn't bad at this big-sister stuff. She didn't know what Buffy was always complaining about.

A splash and a wail sounded from the bathroom, and Dawn sighed. Maybe she should go help.

_Cookies_! she thought desperately. Casting an apologetic glance at the door to the bathroom, she headed for the kitchen to prepare a kid-friendly bedtime snack. That was helpful…right?

Buffy gazed around the bathroom in open dismay. Bath-time for four had been a _disaster_.

She had decided to bathe them two-by-two, starting with Xander and Anya. Unfortunately, Anya at age three was not unlike Anya at age 1,112, or however-the-hell old the ex-demon actually was. Every time Buffy's attention had turned to Xander, even for a moment, the little girl had splashed demandingly, covering the bathroom floor—and Buffy, herself—with water. Xander, meanwhile, had discovered bar soap. _Slippery_ bar soap. Gleefully, he would clutch the bar of soap in both hands, watching it squirt out from between his little fingers with surprising force, then chase it around the bathtub on all fours, creating no small number of splashes, himself.

She didn't want to think about what would happen if he got hold of the shampoo.

By the time she'd finally gotten the two of them cleaned up, dressed in the flowing T-shirts Dawn had provided, and combed into some semblance of decency, Willow had changed her mind about wanting a bath. Which would have been fine, if Tara, for her part, hadn't discovered the toothpaste while Buffy's back was turned, and liberally applied it to Willow's head, streaking the red hair with long strands of gooey, greenish white.

After yelling for what felt like forever until Dawn finally showed up, she had turned over the two freshly-scrubbed children to her sister's care, and wrestled the miniature witches into the tub. Willow's ensuing temper tantrum had turned the bathroom from a garden-variety war zone into an actual flood, not to mention frightening little Tara until the small blonde had backed up hard enough to knock her head into the faucet.

Finally—_finally—_all four children were clean and dressed. Carrying a witch on either arm, Buffy deserted the bathroom, leaving the mess for later cleanup. Retreating to the kitchen, where Dawn had promised cookies and milk, Buffy breathed a sigh of relief.

Until she walked into the kitchen to find milk pouring all over the counter, dripping off onto the floor. Anya was enraged about something that remained unclear, and little Xander, his cup overturned in front of him, had buried his face in his arms on the countertop, crying piteously.

Dawn, clearly at her wit's end, was trying to simultaneously clean up the milk, comfort Xander, and calm Anya down.

Buffy sighed, settling Willow and a wide-eyed Tara onto the remaining two seats. Scooping Xander up into her arms, she settled herself on his chair, murmuring softly into his hair until he calmed down, curling his tiny body into hers in a way that made her heart throb with a sudden, fierce maternal ache.

The sound of the key turning in the front door had never been so welcome. Giles stumbled into the kitchen, arms laden with what appeared to be half of Wal-Mart.

He and Buffy gazed at one another incredulously for a moment, before demanding, in perfect unison, "What happened to _you_?"

Dawn giggled, a little hysterically, behind them.

Buffy surveyed herself with some surprise, only now realizing her resemblance to a drowned rat. "Bath-time for four," she explained ruefully, then pointed at Giles's multitude of bags. "What's all this?"

Giles's helpless look made her want to laugh out loud. "I panicked," he offered, setting the bags down on the floor. To his surprise, Willow slid off her stool, wandering over to stand at his feet. Surveying him very seriously for a moment, she finally cocked her head to one side.

"Up," she announced decidedly, holding up her arms.

Giles hesitated only for a moment, then bent and scooped the little redhead somewhat awkwardly into his arms. Willow graced him with a beatific smile, then laid her head trustingly against his shoulder.

Wide-eyed, Giles stared at Buffy. That funny ache throbbed again in her chest at the sight of the big man cuddling the tiny form against his chest, and to hide her sudden nervousness, she sprang into action, digging through the bags littering the floor at Giles's feet.

Something small and very fragile inside her broke as she opened the bags, surveying the proceeds of his panicked shopping spree. Two different sizes of diapers, four little tiny pairs of pajamas—three pink, one blue—and four little tippy cups stared back at her. The second bag revealed four little teddy bears, four little toothbrushes, a copy of _The Lion King_, a bottle of no-tears shampoo, and two storybooks.

A glance at the third bag made her laugh out loud.

"Giles," she exclaimed, delighted. "Is that a _potty chair_?"

Giles floundered for a moment, clearly embarrassed, and then drew himself up. "It's a _training seat_," he informed her with dignity. "I thought…it would be safer…"

The urge to hug him right then was overwhelming, so Buffy gave in to it, flinging her free arm around his waist and burying her face in his chest, giggling and blinking back tears all at once.

_Giles_ had purchased a _potty chair_. Was there ever anything so adorable in the world?

"Er…Buffy?"

She pulled back to see him gazing at her with an expression she couldn't quite read. Possibly aghast. The thought brought forth another slightly watery chuckle.

"I'm okay, Giles," she assured him, shifting Xander in her arms until he settled more comfortably on her hip. "It's all just a little…much, I think."

Still looking slightly bewildered, he studied her for a long moment, then nodded. "We'll figure this out, Buffy," he said comfortingly.

She smiled at him. "I know." Sighing, she turned, surveying the disaster in the kitchen. Dawn had pounced on the tippy cups the moment she saw them, gazing at Giles as though he might be a god. She was now pouring the milk into the new cups, setting them back up at the counter.

Buffy turned to Xander, who was still snuggled comfortably into her shoulder. "Do you want to finish your cookies, now?" she asked him gently. He nodded, then changed his mind and shook his head, burrowing further into her shoulder as he caught sight of Anya, who had been watching this entire exchange with interest.

"Giles," murmured Buffy, very softly. "Could you put Willow in the chair next to Anya?"

The older man had been watching her croon to the boy, an enigmatic expression on his face, but at her words, he nodded, situating Willow in Xander's vacated seat. For a moment, it looked like Willow might fight him on this, but the sight of Dawn setting two cookies on a napkin in front of her seemed to change her mind.

Buffy pointed at the seat next to Willow, clearly separated from his former girlfriend, and new nemesis. "Do you want to sit there?" she asked Xander, making sure he could see the cookies Dawn was setting out. He nodded warily, and she settled him into his seat.

"Can you watch them for a minute?" she asked Dawn.

Dawn blinked, and looked about to refuse, but a glance at the four suddenly-angelic little faces, all entirely absorbed with their cookies, apparently gave her strength. "Sure," she told Buffy, pausing before she added, "but hurry back."

Buffy nodded, dragging Giles into the living room, and narrowly missing stepping into Xander's little puddle. Oh, man, she'd forgotten about that. She mentally added the living room rug to her growing list of things to clean after they got the four little monsters into bed.

"Giles, what happened to them?" she asked helplessly, as soon as they were alone. "Oh," she added, with sudden realization, "and, y'know…hi. It's good to see you again."

Giles smiled, in spite of himself. "Hello to you, too, he murmured. "And it's lovely to see you again as well, although the circumstances are certainly…"

"Hellmouthy?" Buffy supplied wryly.

"I was going to say _unique_," he conceded. "But your interpretation is not entirely incorrect." He glanced over her shoulder at the doorway to the kitchen. "As to what happened to them, I must say, I have no idea. Did Willow do this?"

Buffy shook her head. "I don't think so—she was just waiting by the window. And if she did, I can't imagine what she was _trying_ to do…besides, I think this came from…someone else."

"A demon?"

She considered this. "More than one. At least three that I saw—maybe more. And there was the light—did you see the light?"

Giles nodded. "Did you see what these creatures looked like?"

Regretfully, Buffy shook her head. "I just saw shadows. I almost chased them, but I didn't know what they'd done, and I couldn't see the guys, and—"

"Buffy, it's all right," he assured her. "Even if you'd caught them, right now we don't know what we're dealing with. It's possible that if you had slain them, you could have locked your friends into this state forever. We need to know what we're facing, before we do anything."

"Do you know of any demons who—who...do this?"

He paused. "No," he eventually admitted. "But we do know what they've done. And we know they cast some sort of glowing blue light, and that they most likely move in packs. A little research, and we'll figure the rest out."

Guilt nagged at her. She hadn't forgotten what he'd said when he left. "I'm sorry you got dragged into this, Giles," she told him. "If you want to go back to England—"

"Buffy!" He stared at her, scandalized. "You can't think I'd actually leave you to deal with this?"

"I don't want you to think I'm…I'm _dumping_ this on you—it's my problem, and—"

Giles sighed. "I needed you to learn to deal with _life_, Buffy. I didn't ever intend for you to feel like you couldn't call me when you needed genuine help."

She rolled her eyes. "This _is_ my life," she said bluntly, smiling a little to take the edge off her words. "But I appreciate your help, Giles. Really."

He seemed flustered by her gratitude, and she realized sadly that she hadn't ever really shown it before. She'd have to find a way to thank him while he was here.

"Oh, god," she realized suddenly. "Patrol. What am I going to do about _patrol_?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You look dead on your feet," he informed her. "And not without reason. Missing one night of patrol won't hurt anything."

"I have to patrol," she objected. "The vamp numbers have been going up, and now there's this new thing out there—"

"Which you wouldn't recognize if you saw it," he pointed out, "and shouldn't fight if you did. Patrol if you must—Dawn and I can probably manage to put the children to bed—but don't hunt this thing. Let us research it first. The children are safe, for now, and a day or two won't hurt anything. I'd prefer to know what we're dealing with before we do something we regret."

Buffy nodded. "All right. I'm just going to take care of some last little things before I take off." She paused. "Thanks, Giles."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Giles left the kids with Dawn and slipped upstairs to find out what was taking Buffy so long. He found her in the bathroom, on her knees, wearily cleaning up the floor.

Immediately, guilt nagged at him. "Let me do this," he offered, picking up a towel. "You've got enough to worry about."

She smiled at him, but kept wiping. "I can do it," she assured him. "I'm not turning down any help, though."

Taking the hint, he knelt and began to wipe up a pile of what looked like toothpaste.

She had changed. He hadn't been gone long—less than a month—but something about her had changed. She seemed…older. There was still a sadness about her—which, he realized regretfully, would probably never go away—but there was something more, now. She was much more free with physical expressions of affection, for one thing—her spontaneous hug in the living room had astonished him—and Dawn had mentioned that Buffy had been doing much better about paying attention to her friends and family. The younger girl had also speculated that something had happened with Spike, who was hanging around more persistently than ever, but she couldn't say what. Only that Buffy seemed tired and sad when she looked at the platinum-haired vampire, and Dawn had once overheard her telling him she was "sorry for making him believe there was anything more," whatever that might mean.

"She works a lot," the younger girl had told him. When he had asked where, she had refused to say, merely wrinkling her nose in apparent disapproval. "But she's trying hard. She insists on spending all this time together, and going over my homework. Plus, she's totally anal about letting me go out anywhere—has to know where I'm going, and who will be there…" The teenager had rolled her eyes, but it had been clear she was secretly pleased. "I don't know how she finds time for it all," the younger woman had said absently. "Cleaning the house, working, patrolling—she must be tired."

Looking at Buffy now, he had to agree. She _did_ seem tired, and not just from chasing four kids around for the last hour and a half. But she also seemed…competent.

Leaving, he thought sadly, had clearly been a good idea after all. She was better off now than he had ever seen her.

* * *

Buffy wandered, exhausted, into the living room. She pulled up short at the sight of Giles, asleep on the couch, sitting up. An open book lay in his lap, the towels they had used to clean the bathroom, now clean and neatly folded, all around. She smiled in spite of herself.

"Giles," she said quietly, shaking his shoulder a bit.

He made a groggy sound, and opened his eyes. "Buffy?" he asked sleepily. "How was patrol?"

"Three vamps," she told him quietly. "No big. Now, come on."

He looked around, blinking owlishly. "Where are we going?"

"To bed."

At his flush, she laughed. "To _sleep_, you big priss. Now, stop being such a girl and come to bed."

He hesitated. "I can sleep on the couch—"

She crossed her arms. "I have slept on this couch," she informed him sternly. "And no, you cannot. I'm not being nice, here—I need you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to help me with the Brat Pack in the morning. Fully clothed, Giles—I promise to keep my hands to myself. I'll sleep on top of the covers and everything. But you _are_ coming to bed."

He seemed about to argue the issue, but just then, he shifted position and his back popped loudly. He winced, and gave in, allowing her to haul him to his feet, and following her wearily up the stairs.

In Willow's room, he fell onto the bed, sighing with relief. Buffy tugged the blankets up and over him, removing his glasses gently and placing them on the bedside table. Rolling her shoulders to stretch her aching muscles, she tiptoed down the hall to check on the kids. All sound asleep, looking adorably innocent. She smiled.

A quick peek into Dawn's room revealed her sister sleeping like the dead, clearly overcome by exhaustion of her own. Buffy wondered briefly how bedtime had gone, but was too tired, herself, to give it much thought.

Stumbling back to Willow's room, Buffy collapsed next to her Watcher, on top of the covers, as promised. Within moments, she was sound asleep.

* * *

The scream woke her instantly. It took only a moment to remember where she was, and when she did, she flushed hotly. There was no time for embarrassment, however—she was on her feet and in motion less than an instant after waking up. Giles was hot on her heels, and Buffy flushed again. So, her Watcher was a closet snuggler, huh? She filed the thought away for future contemplation.

They hit the doorway pretty much simultaneously, bursting into Buffy's room in a rush. It took only a moment for Buffy to do a sweeping check of the room, but nothing seemed amiss.

It looked like one of the children must have had a nightmare, although at this point it was impossible to tell which. All four children were sitting up, sobbing pitifully, and reaching for Buffy and Giles.

Buffy took Xander and Tara, Giles took Willow and Anya. Settling themselves onto the bed with the children, they cuddled and comforted as best they could. Tara quieted immediately, with little more than a hug and a snuggle, but the other three seemed to need more convincing.

Giles shot Buffy one embarrassed glance—and then began to sing.

Instantly, all four children were enraptured. So was Buffy.

_Wow._ She'd never actually heard him sing before—there was that time that crazy demon had turned Sunnydale in to _Real World: Broadway_, but she'd been a little too freaked out to pay much attention at the time.

Giles had an _incredible_ voice. Warm, husky…sexy.

Buffy flushed again. She'd been aware for some time that her feelings for her Watcher were probably not what you might call Council-approved, but this was just unfair. How was a girl supposed to be remain calm and detached, while her stuffy British Watcher cradled a pair of babies in his arms, crooning old English lullabies in that rich tenor voice?

She laid her head back against the wall, allowing herself to drift into semi-consciousness, as the mellow notes washed over her.

This could be a problem.

* * *

Dawn stood in the open doorway to her sister's room, torn between laughter and a strange urge to cry. The sight before her was priceless.

Giles and Buffy were asleep, sitting up, in the bed. Buffy's head rested on Giles's shoulder, his head resting against hers. All around them, sleeping babies curled trustingly against their bodies, clutching teddy bears and strong arms, as if for comfort.

Silently, Dawn slipped down to the kitchen, digging around until she emerged with a disposable camera. Creeping back up the stairs, she snapped the picture quickly, tucking the camera out of sight as Buffy's eyes fluttered open.

"Hey," her sister whispered, trying not to move.

Giles sighed and shifted, opening his own eyes and blinking in momentary confusion. He and Buffy glanced at one another somewhat sheepishly, and the effect was so cute, Dawn wished she could take a picture of that, too.

Man, how had she missed this?

Her thoughts were racing as Watcher and Slayer attempted to extract themselves from the nest of sleeping children without waking them up. Once they were free, they stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door quietly behind them. Neither noticed Dawn tucking the camera swiftly into her pocket and out of sight.

"Coffee," Buffy ground out, looking pleadingly at Dawn.

"Already made," Dawn assured her, laughing. At this, Buffy actually hugged her, nearly throwing Dawn off-balance in the process.

"I _love_ you," the Slayer announced earnestly.

"Tea, too," Dawn felt compelled to add, noticing Giles's crestfallen face. For a startling moment, she thought he might attack her, as well, but he seemed to get control of himself, settling for a look so grateful, she had to laugh again.

"You can have the first shower, if you want," Buffy offered, looking at the older man.

He objected instantly. "Not at all," he insisted, a gentleman to the core. "Ladies first."

"Ah," Buffy retorted. "But _you_ have to go to work today, whereas _I_ am calling in sick."

For a moment, Giles seemed baffled. "Work?" he finally inquired.

"The Magic Shop," the Slayer elaborated. "Anya would kill us if we didn't at least _try_ to keep business going—and besides, you need to research this demon-thing, and I have a feeling not much research is going to get done around here."

"I can't just leave you here to do this alone!"

"Which is only one of the many reasons you're such a great guy." Buffy's declaration surprised Dawn, and it appeared to surprise Giles, as well. Her sister wasn't usually so effusive. Maybe she was actually coming around. "But yes, you can. And you will—you know we'll get nothing done if we both hang around here."

"Besides," Dawn offered, before the situation dissolved into a full-fledged argument, "I'll stay home today and help out."

Buffy didn't bat an eye. "The hell you will," she told her sister firmly. "You will go to school, and Giles will go to work, and you will both at least pretend that you think I can handle this." She sniffed. "I am the Slayer. I fight vampires and demons every night of my life. I have averted the apocalypse—many times, I might add—and defeated master vampires, hellgods, demon-robot hybrids, and evil masterminds of all shapes and sizes. I think I can handle eight hours alone with a few small children." Raising her chin stubbornly, she set off for the stairs. "Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to have some coffee."


	2. Family Dynamics

Disclaimers found in Chapter One

Chapter Two

Family Dynamics

Giles sipped his tea, grateful for a moment of peace. He felt much better after his shower, but the thought of facing all four of the little demons before he'd finished his first cup of tea was incomprehensible.

Guilt ate at him. Buffy seemed determined that he go to work, and there was little point in arguing with her once she'd set her mind to something, but it didn't change the fact that this felt like desertion.

Again.

He sighed This was no time to get maudlin and weepy—Buffy was right. They had a demon to research, and it wasn't likely to get done standing around here all day.

Just then, Xander emerged, scooting down the stairs on his little, diaper-clad butt. Spotting Giles, the little boy smiled brightly. "Hi, man," he greeted, raising a chubby hand, fingers splayed in an awkward wave.

Something tugged uncomfortably in Giles's heart. "Hi, there," he replied, kneeling.

Xander seemed to be waiting expectantly for him to say something, but for the life of him, Giles couldn't figure out what.

"Breakfast!" he finally declared triumphantly, proud to have come up with an activity that was sure to please. The one thing Giles knew about Xander was…food. Lots, and lots of food.

"Beck-fist!" Xander agreed enthusiastically, holding up his arms. "Beck-fist," he repeated, nodding solemnly at Giles as if to convey the depth of his concern on this issue.

Grinning in spite of himself, Giles scooped Xander up and carried him into the kitchen, where Buffy was looking a little frazzled. Dawn had already left for school, having to run to catch the bus without Xander for her ride today, and the girls were seated at the counter, impatiently beating the countertop with their spoons as Buffy muttered prayers to the Egg God to make the scrambled eggs cook just a little bit faster.

"The Egg God?" Giles asked, amused, as he settled Xander into his chair—now safely away from Anya at all times. Lessons had been learned.

Buffy threw a distracted smile over her shoulder. "There has to be one," she rationalized. "There's a god for everything else….and besides, it worked. These are done!"

Victorious, she waved her spatula around in the air for a moment, and Giles had to fight back a sudden wave of affection so strong he could barely remain standing.

He gazed at her as she moved down the line of children, scooping eggs onto their plates and simultaneously attempting to explain to them the concept of "hot".

"Ouch!" she cried, touching Xander's eggs with the tip of one finger. "Hot," she said slowly, holding the pseudo-injury to her lips and kissing it. "Owie," she added, by way of clarification.

She was a sight. After her brief shower this morning, she had foregone real clothes in favor of what she referred to as "comfort gear". She moved around the kitchen, now, in a pair of soft, baggy flannel pants, a white tank-top, and thick, scrunchy socks. Her hair, still wet from the shower, was piled sloppily atop her head, and beginning to show an alarming tendency toward frizz. She was not wearing one speck of makeup, save a milk mustache he was at least reasonably sure was unintentional.

She'd never looked so sexy in her life.

Giles flushed, berating himself for his thoughts. She was his Slayer, and she was more than twenty years younger than he, on top of which she had never given him _any_ indication that she might appreciate his attention—so, why couldn't he seem to stop thinking of her? Her bravery, her strength, her beauty—beauty which, as now, almost always seemed to him to be the most overwhelming when it was the most unintentional. When dirt smudged her cheeks after a long patrol. When an injury marred the perfect line of her jaw, when she was giving an impassioned speech in her sushi pajamas, hair on end…when she had a milk mustache.

Something must be wrong with him. He was seriously fixated on that milk mustache. What would she do if he licked it off?

The thought was enough to startle even him.

"Eggs?" she asked brightly, interrupting his musings. She settled the plate at the dining room table, safely away from the children. "I made sausage for you, but I didn't know if it was a good idea for the kids or not, so I didn't make any for them. If it gets to a point where we think they might be like this for a few days, I'm maybe gonna need a child nutrition book or something. I figure one day won't matter, though—"

"Buffy." He cut her off, amused. "How much coffee have you had?"

"Three cups so far," she replied innocently. "Why?"

He sighed. "What have you made for _yourself_ to eat for breakfast?" he asked gently.

Just then, Willow's spoon hit the floor with a clatter. The noise startled Tara, who welled up alarmingly. Buffy sprang from her chair, scooping up Willow's spoon and smoothing Tara's hair simultaneously. She made her way to the sink, rinsing the spoon quickly before Willow decided to throw a fit, and within moments, all was well again.

"I'm not hungry," she assured Giles, sitting back down across from him. "And if I sit down to eat, bad things happen. I'm fine," she added, seeing his expression. "Now, hurry up and eat so you can go to work."

With this wifely admonition, she stood, making it back to the counter just in time to prevent Anya's entire plate from flying off the edge. Scooping up Xander and Tara, she made for the door, Anya and Willow following closely at her heels. Before Giles knew what had happened, Buffy had pushed him lightly out the door, stepping out onto the porch to watch him drive away.

As Giles started the ignition, he was treated to a sight he had truly thought he'd never see. Buffy, standing on the porch, surrounded by babies…every last one of them waving goodbye as he headed for work.

The scene was so domestic it physically stole his breath. He didn't fully return to his senses until he was halfway to the Magic Shop, and even so, he knew, that moment would be on his mind all day.

This could be a problem.

* * *

Giles's key in the lock sounded like heaven to Buffy's weary ears. She was on her feet in an instant, desperate—actually desperate—just to have contact with another adult. Dawn had come home briefly, but when it became apparent that she would get no homework done amidst the melee, Buffy had ordered her to go to the library and get her work done.

She'd regretted the decision only moments after Dawn walked out the door.

But now, wonder of wonders, here was Giles—the very grown-uppest of grown-ups! And—and was that…_Chinese food?_

He'd brought home dinner?

Completely undone, Buffy flung herself at him, laughing and weeping and declaring him the King of the Entire World, only barely managing to control herself before she actually proposed. He hugged her awkwardly, chuckling at her obvious distress.

"Was it that bad?" he asked gently, tilting her face up so he could see it.

She shushed him, and led him away from the living room, where the children were currently enraptured by _The Lion King_. For the third time today.

"We need to eat fast," she told him seriously. "Once that movie ends and they come in here, it's over for us."

Giles blinked, then appeared to try to bite back a laugh. Passing her the bag of food, he stood to go gather plates and forks. "Tell me," he invited,

"It wasn't really that bad," Buffy managed, around the eggroll she'd already stuffed into her mouth. "It's just…there are so _many_ of them, Giles, and you can't be always watching everyone at once, but the minute your back is turned—" She broke off, feeling whiny the longer she went on. "Sorry," she apologized. "It really wasn't that bad. No one is dead or seriously injured, and the house is still standing, so…"

He passed her the plate, the fork, and a soda, which she accepted gratefully. "Don't apologize," he ordered. "It sounds like you've had a rough time of it—what did they do?"

Buffy smiled in spite of herself. "What _didn't_ they do?" she asked wryly. "Xander got hold of a blue crayon and drew murals all over the living room wall. While I was trying to get the crayon away from him, Anya and Willow got into it—a real, knock-down, drag-out fight. There was hair-pulling; it was ugly. Meanwhile, Tara has managed to disappear upstairs and wedge herself into the laundry chute—it took me twenty minutes to get her out of there; I eventually had to dismantle the thing. Xander wanted to use the potty chair like a big boy, and wouldn't let me help him, so he eventually _stood up_ on the toilet seat, slipped, and fell _into the toilet_, cracking his head against the tank on the way down. I got him cleaned up, but he was still upset about his head, so I gave him a Band-Aid, and suddenly he was happy. While I wasn't looking, Anya or Tara pilfered the Band-Aids. I set all the kids up in the living room with…with _that movie_—" she couldn't even bear to say the name anymore—"and leave for five minutes to go to the bathroom. When I come back, all four kids are head-to-toe Band-Aids, and scuffling on the floor over the last one."

Here she paused, since Giles looked like he was going to physically explode if he kept trying to hold in his laughter.

"Go ahead," she told him wearily, smiling herself. "Say it."

"X-Xander," her Watcher began, shaking with laughter. "F-fell into…"

"The toilet," she confirmed, nodding wisely.

The last of his restraint melted away, and he laughed out loud—the sort of full, belly-laugh that the group saw from him only too rarely. "I-I'm so sorry," he choked out, trying to get control of himself. "I don't mean to l-laugh at your troubles, it's just…"

"I know." Now that there was someone here to share it with, Buffy was finding the amusement in the entire situation. "Laugh away. I haven't even told you about the part where I had to butter Willow's head to get it out of the banister."

Giles buried his face in his hands, laughing until tears streamed down his cheeks. "Oh, my poor girl," he finally managed, still chuckling. "I shouldn't have left you here to deal with this."

"It's cool, Giles," she assured him. "All's well that ends well. Speaking of which, were you able to find anything?"

He shook his head apologetically. "I searched all day," he assured her. "I found several demon sects that cast spells using blue-white lights, but none that should have this effect. And none that move in packs—at least, not yet. That's where I intend to focus my attention tomorrow."

Buffy nodded, only slightly disappointed. She hadn't really thought he'd find the answers right away, anyway. Things were almost never that easy.

"I did have a thought," she offered. "Could this be Ethan, maybe? With some buddies or something? It's just—this kind of seems like when he turned all the grown-ups into kids…just…y'know, more literal."

Giles hesitated. "I suppose it's possible," he conceded. "In fact, I should have thought of it myself. Although, I cannot fathom what he is hoping to accomplish with this. However, I will devote some research to discovering whether or not he is still being kept by the initiative, as well as what spells might cause this type of reaction."

The movie ended just then, and conversation halted while the pair of them tended to the rather trying chore of feeding four children. Xander fell asleep, face down, in his fried rice, and Anya decided she did not like Chinese food, and overturned her plate on the floor. Buffy retreated to the kitchen to make the little girl a sandwich, while Giles attempted to explain wasteful behavior to a three-year-old.

When the eventful meal was finally over, Giles agreed to take the children outside and let them wear themselves out for awhile, so Buffy could clean the kitchen, for which she was profoundly grateful. It wasn't until Dawn walked in and burst out laughing that Buffy discovered that, while she was cleaning, she was quietly singing the entire score to _The Lion King_ under her breath.

"Not a word," she ordered her sister firmly. "Or I'll show naked baby pictures to your prom date, whoever he may turn out to be. Got it?"

Dawn straightened up, shooting Buffy a dirty look. "You could at least play fair," she said sulkily, but her merry eyes gave her away.

"You're enjoying this!" Buffy accused, aghast. "You're enjoying watching us suffer!"

"Yep," agreed Dawn, clearly unimpressed by her sister's pointing finger. "This is more fun than anybody's had in this house since…" She trailed off. "A long time," she finally finished lamely.

Buffy gave her sister a swift hug. "I know, kiddo," she apologized quietly. "I'm working on it, okay?"

Dawn returned her hug tightly. "I know you are."

The back door flung open, spilling a disheveled Giles and four filthy children into the newly-cleaned kitchen. Giles looked distraught.

"I tried to keep them clean," he told Buffy, bewildered. "But they're so…so fast…"

Buffy laughed, patting Giles's cheek. "It's all right, Giles," she assured him. "I'll give them another bath."

"I'll help you," he offered, and Buffy's heart melted, just a little. She knew from last night that probably nothing in the world terrified Giles more than the thought of bathing these kids, but he was willing to jump into the fray. For her.

She pushed the thought away, scooping up Xander and Willow en route to the stairs. Behind her, she heard Giles chasing Anya around the kitchen, and she laughed to herself.

Belatedly, she realized how much she _had_ been laughing, for the past couple of days. It was…amazing. Her erstwhile Watcher had come back to beg her to let him retire in full, her friends had been hit by some lightning-demon-death-ray thing that had reverted them to tiny children, her home was being torn apart by hellspawn in toddler form—and she'd laughed more since the entire debacle began than she had since Willow had brought her back.

Was she finally moving forward? Moving on? Was it just the sheer cuteness of the kids? Was it having Giles back?

Was it _Giles_?

Buffy had known that she loved him from the moment he'd stepped into the Magic Box after Willow's spell. Everything had felt so empty—even Dawn—but when he stepped through that door, Buffy had come home.

She hadn't been ready for it, then…the feelings had been clingy, and needy, and desperate. And so strong, she'd driven him away.

Now, though, it was different. She had her feet back underneath her. She'd been trying for weeks to prove she could do it; hoping, somehow, that if she could prove it to him—that she could handle it on her own—then he'd come home again.

_Of course,_ she thought wryly, _the first thing he comes home to is a situation I can totally NOT handle on my own._ But it was okay. He didn't seem to mind helping her.

And maybe that's what this was—this new lightness in her, this laughter. Maybe this is what being in love with Giles was _supposed_ to feel like.

God, she hoped not. If it was, she'd never be able to let him go back to England.

* * *

Bath-time was slightly more efficient this time around. Giles kept control of whichever two were _not_ in the tub at any given moment, and the no-tears shampoo made hair-washing a much simpler feat.

"I wish I'd bought the de-tangler," Giles muttered behind her, and Buffy laughed. He was becoming quite the domestic little Watcher—they'd better get these kids back to normal size before he realized what was happening to him and ran like hell.

Willow screeched as Giles hit a tangle in her long red hair, and Giles cuddled her close for a moment, murmuring comforting apologies until the little girl calmed down. It didn't take long for everyone to be squeaky-clean and ready for cookies. Even the bathroom only looked about half as bad as it had the night before.

Leaving Giles and Dawn to take the kids down for snack-time, Buffy set about cleaning up the mess, before it got any further out of hand. She sighed, surveying yet another pile of towels to wash. Also, the kids' pajamas. For tonight, they'd have to sleep in Dawn's shirts after all.

A quick laundry run to the basement, and Buffy gathered up her stakes. She was falling asleep on her feet, but she needed to do this. If she let the town run rampant while she dealt with the Wonder Quads, the body-count would double in two nights. You couldn't let the vampires think they were getting away with anything, even for a minute.

"Buffy." Giles' voice cut into her reverie. "Would you like me to patrol for you?"

For a moment it was so tempting—"No," she replied firmly. "Thanks, but I got it." _No more turning to Giles to take over when things get rough. Be your own woman. _

He looked as if he wanted to argue, but she was already out the door.

* * *

Patrol seemed endless. No less than six vamps tonight—and they were cocky. Word must be spreading that she wasn't at her best. By the time she'd staked the last one, she was ready to drop. She barely made it home.

Giles was sitting up for her, this time, but after one look at her, he closed his mouth. He didn't even argue about the sleeping arrangements—just took her by the hand, and led her up the stairs. He tried to put her to bed, but she shook her head at him, staggering down the hall to check on the kids. As soon as she had assured herself that all was well in her little world, she stumbled back to the bedroom.

Giles was waiting for her, one of his big pajama shirts and a pair of boxer shorts clutched in his hand. "Change your clothes," he ordered, offering them to her.

"It's okay—" she tried to tell him, but he would have none of it.

"You can't do this to yourself," he told her quietly. "Now, change your clothes and get in bed. I'll be back after I change."

He disappeared into the hall, the pajama pants in his hand.

Too tired to object any further, Buffy changed her clothes, sighing with relief as the comfy clothes replaced her normal patrol "uniform" of jeans and sweater. Falling down on top of the blankets—as promised—she was asleep within moments.

Giles returned from the bathroom, feeling slightly uncomfortable in only his pajama pants. He needn't have worried—Buffy was already sound asleep. With a tender little smile at her sweetly sleeping face, he tugged the covers out from beneath her. She didn't so much as murmur.

Firmly ignoring his body's reaction to the unmistakably intimate sight of her in his pajama shirt and boxer shorts, he covered her gently with the blanket, and then climbed into bed next to her. Pulling the blankets up over himself, as well, he let the sound of her steady breathing lull him to sleep.

* * *

Buffy's eyes fluttered open slowly. Morning light poured through the curtains, revealing, not her room, but Willow and Tara's. All at once, she remembered where she was.

And with whom.

Oh, this was bad. Somehow, she was under the covers, _with_ Giles. Her head was pillowed on his arm, his breath blowing softly across her face. His other hand was on her hip in an unconsciously possessive gesture, and, beneath the blankets, their legs were tangled together.

Her heart started pounding. _God, don't let him wake up_, she begged silently, hoping to find a way to extract herself from this situation before he woke up, saw their intimate position, and ran like hell—possibly all the way back to England.

A shifting behind her caught her attention and she turned her head slowly, heart melting at the sight of Xander—his entire body curled up on the pillow next to her head—with one thumb in his mouth and his other hand clutching a fistful of her hair, as if for comfort.

Xander wasn't the only interloper, she noticed belatedly. Tara was curled against Giles's side, sleeping soundly. Buffy's heart fluttered at the sight. A wave of love for them all crashed over her, so strong it nearly made her gasp out loud. For maybe the first time since it had happened, in that moment, Buffy was so grateful to have been brought home, she could have cried with it.

Before she could get too maudlin, however, she needed to figure out a way out of this mess. Quickly.

But not _too_ quickly.

She berated herself for the thought. Giles was going to wake up any minute, and—too late. Green eyes popped open, maybe one inch from her face. He blinked.

"Hello," he murmured bemusedly.

"Shhh." She smiled at him, wishing she could kiss that adorable, early-morning confusion right off his face. "We have company."

Slowly, he lifted his head, surveying the little intruders with a tender smile. "We should get them back to their room," he murmured. Suddenly, his eyes widened.

Buffy had been waiting for this; the penny had finally dropped.

"Buffy!" he rasped, clearly scandalized. "I'm so sorr—I didn't mean—" His hand slipped away from her hip in a hurry, and she somewhat reluctantly pulled her head away from his arm.

"It's no big, Giles," she assured him, then froze.

Was that…against her thigh…had that been?

The way his face was flaming made her heart race in response. Had Giles been…_affected_…by their early-morning cuddles? Was it even possible?

He certainly seemed embarrassed enough, but that could have just been because he was currently trying to untangle their legs—a rather intimate task in any event.

She shook her head—she'd have to think about it later. A lot. For now, they needed to get the kids back into bed.

They managed to lift the kids and get them down the hall without incident. Dawn opened her door just as they were walking past, and gave their rumpled appearances, not to mention their attire, a long, thoughtful look. She opened her mouth, but Buffy held up her hand, forestalling her.

Once they had the kids in bed, and Buffy was shutting the door behind her, she turned to her sister. "Make. Coffee," she ordered, her eyes daring Dawn to say so much as one word about it. With a smirk, the younger girl headed downstairs, leaving Giles and Buffy to stare somewhat awkwardly at one another in the hall.

"Go ahead and hop in the shower—I'll try to have breakfast ready when you come down," Buffy offered, hoping her voice sounded normal.

Too groggy—or too embarrassed—to even try to be a gentleman about it, Giles just nodded, and disappeared back into his room to gather up his clothes.

With a slightly giddy grin, Buffy headed down the stairs.


	3. Revelations

Disclaimers found in Chapter One

Chapter Three

_Revelations_

Giles looked up from his research as the bell above the door jingled. At the sight of Buffy, his heart stopped.

"The children?" he asked immediately, already on his feet. Buffy's raised hand calmed him.

"They're fine," she assured him. "Dawn is with them now—we needed more diapers, and the kids need at least another pair of pajamas apiece; I know we're not planning on this being a permanent thing—or even a 'for-very-much-longer' thing—but Xander nearly killed himself tripping over that long T-shirt today, and his PJs are always getting spilled on, splashed on, colored on—"

"Buffy," he interrupted, smiling. "If you needed those things, why didn't you just call me? I'd have been happy to pick them up on my way home."

_Home_. The word fell between them like a stone, and he wished he could snatch it back. This wasn't his home. England was his home. Maybe if he said that often enough, it would start to mean something.

She gave him a searching look, but apparently decided to let him off the hook. "To be honest, I needed to get out of the house," she offered ruefully. "And while I was at it, I figured you and I should have a talk."

Giles felt his face heat. If she'd come all this way to talk about this morning—he almost groaned. Could there be anything more embarrassing than this? He'd been caught—he knew it, she knew it. But, perhaps foolishly, he had imagined that she was going to let it go unspoken.

She read his face like a book. "Um, I'm here about the Watcher's Council," she said bluntly, clearly in a hurry to get it out before he started apologizing for the morning.

He was torn between mortification and laughter. So far, this conversation wasn't going very well, and he hadn't even started participating in it yet.

"The Council?" he managed, determined to hold onto whatever dignity he had left.

She nodded, and then heaved a sigh. "I know why they sent you here," she told him. "They wanted you to convince me to let them give me a new Watcher, right?"

He nodded mutely, waiting to see where she was going with this.

"I called them this morning," she said quietly, her voice sounding slightly choked. "I told them to go ahead."

Perversely, he felt slightly betrayed. "You're getting a new Watcher, then?" At her nod, he swallowed. So. It was done. He was officially no longer a part of her life. "May I ask what changed your mind?" he asked, trying to sound neutral.

She was quiet for a moment, seeming to collect her thoughts. "You did," she said finally.

He raised an eyebrow. He hadn't even broached the subject with her yet.

"I know," she replied, in answer to his unspoken question. "But it was you, just the same."

He opened his mouth, but she held up her hand. "You have to let me say this," she burst out in a rush, "or I'll never get it all out." She waited for his nod before she continued. "When you left, I felt…so betrayed. I was angry, and bitter, and…and empty. Mostly, I was just empty. For awhile, I just sort of gave up—I stopped caring about anybody, stopped being the Slayer, stopped everything. I…I slept with Spike." She paused, clearly waiting for his disgust, but he was too frozen inside to reply. Looking sick, she continued. "A few times. And I almost lost Dawn—the Social Services people wanted to take her away—and…and everything was bad, very bad. I just kept thinking how unfair it was—how I was supposed to be finished with all of this, but here I was anyway. And how you were supposed to be here for me, but you weren't. And I just…didn't care."

"Something changed?" he ground out, trying not to think of her with Spike.

She nodded. "A lot of stuff—it's a long story, involving Willow, and Buffy-pudding, but the upshot is, I almost died. Again. And it made me realize…I don't _want_ to die again. There's a lot here to care about, and a lot to do—so I started doing it. And I've been doing good, Giles—not counting the last two days and the Brat Brigade, of course—I've been doing okay, all by myself. Only…" She trailed off, frustrated. "This is really hard to explain."

He tilted his head, curiosity momentarily overwhelming his desire to throttle Spike. "Try," he invited.

"I was doing all of this stuff, thinking that if I could just prove to you that I could do it, you'd come home," she said bluntly. "I kept thinking, if I could just be good enough, then you'd know you could come back, and I wouldn't feel so empty anymore." Before he could process that, she had rushed on. "And then, today, it hit me—you were supposed to be finished with this, too. When I died. You went back to England, and you had done your duty, and now you were finished. Except then I was back. And when you left again, all I could see was me, and how much I wanted you around. Even later, when I was doing better, that's all I kept thinking—I wanted my Watcher back." She dropped her gaze for a moment, then met his eyes. "I don't want my Watcher back anymore," she said quietly. "I want my friend. And I figure, if I'm going to be any kind of friend to you at all, then I shouldn't be trying to take away what you've earned. Your chance to be finished. That's no better than what Willow did to me." She shrugged self-consciously. "So I called the Council, and made the arrangements."

"Buffy…" He was overwhelmed. "T-that may be the kindest thing anyone's ever done for me."

She grinned at him wryly. "Don't thank me 'til you've heard the rest," she warned.

"The rest?"

She nodded. "There were…conditions." At his raised eyebrow, she continued. "You have to pick the new Watcher," she told him. "I don't want to have some amateur putting my life in danger all the time, and I won't trust anyone but you to pick the best."

He nodded, flattered. "Of course, Buffy."

She chuckled. "Also, there will be…um, annual performance reviews."

His jaw dropped. "You talked the Council into letting you give _performance reviews_?" he demanded, incredulous.

She shook her head slowly. "Um, no. Actually…_you'll_ be doing the reviews."

He digested this for a moment, and then it clicked, and a smile started to spread across his face. "Buffy," he chided gently. "Are you by any chance trying to coerce me into mandatory yearly visits?"

She shrugged. "I said I didn't want to _ruin_ your life," she remarked airily. "I never said I had any problem manipulating it."

At this, he laughed out loud. "You should have known I would have come, whenever you asked."

"Sure, but _you_ never would have asked," she pointed out. "It'd get old constantly being the one to do the begging—so this way, I only have to ask the one time, and now you have to come every year. It's genius, if I do say so myself."

"Your terms are acceptable," he told her with a smile.

Her mobile phone rang, startling them both. "It's Dawn," she told him apologetically, answering the call.

As she talked, he studied her. He could barely process everything she'd just said. It was unlike his Buffy to spend much time soul-searching—it was the nature of the beast, he supposed. She didn't live a life that lent itself to an abundance of free time, or positive things to think about.

Here was another piece of the puzzle that was Buffy. In just a few short weeks, she had come so far. How could it be possible for one person to change so much, so rapidly?

Buffy hung up the phone, shooting him a wry grin. "I gotta go," she told him, ruefully. "Dawn's going to lose it, big-time, if I'm gone much longer."

"Are she and the children all right?" he asked immediately, concerned.

"They're fine." Buffy laughed. "Anya just smacked Willow over the head with a wooden spoon, and Xander has decided to become a miniature nudist, but other than that, all is well."

Giles smiled at the description. "In that case, I'll see you this evening—oh, and Buffy?" She paused, glancing up at him. "Did you need me to pick up those diapers and clothes on my way? If Dawn needs you immediately…"

She shot him a grateful look. "Dawn will owe you a cookie for this," she promised. "So will I." At the door, she hesitated, her back to him.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, after a moment.

Without turning around, she said quietly, "I know what you're thinking."

He digested this. "And what might that be?"

"You're thinking, 'when did Buffy become Introspection-Girl?'" She turned around, meeting his eyes. He waited to see where she was going. "Anyway," she continued, "I know I've never been good about that, and I just wanted to say I'm sorry, Giles. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I'm just…sorry."

He heard the wealth of emotion in her words, and knew she was apologizing for more than just her fairly common teenaged lack of self-awareness.

He stared at the empty doorway for a long time.

* * *

Dinner that night was a lively affair. Buffy had been a little afraid Giles would insist on another heart-to-heart when he got home—and frankly, she didn't know if she could take another one right now; she still wasn't very good at that stuff—but he had merely joined her in the kitchen, listening to her ramble about her day with the kids as she bustled around making pasta. After awhile, he'd insisted on helping, and had added a salad, garlic bread, and vegetable medley to her admittedly sad little spaghetti dish.

She shot him a wry look as he helped her clear away the dishes. "If this goes on much longer, I'm gonna have to learn to cook," she muttered.

Wandering in from the living room, where she had been trying to set up the kids with their movie, Dawn made a face at Buffy. "You should learn to cook anyway," she suggested. "Beats the Doublemeat Combo every night of the week."

"Hey," Buffy objected. "Sometimes I bring you fish sticks."

Dawn laughed. "Bad news, by the way," she told them. "The VCR's on the fritz. I've got them watching a cartoon for now."

Buffy gazed at Giles in abject horror. "The VCR? No, no…it's the only thing that keeps them busy during the day!"

Giles had held out his hand in a comforting gesture. "I'll go buy a new one this very evening," he promised.

Blinking, Buffy giggled. "Maybe we could fix the one we have," she pointed out. Giles looked bewildered. It was strangely endearing. "Never fear, Giles—I'll check it out, you won't have to touch the bad electronics." She pointed a finger at him. "But I want you to know—I'm not proud. If I can't fix that thing, I'm taking you up on your offer. I can't do this without a VCR, and you can't make me."

He held up his hands in a gesture of capitulation. "Did I say I was going to try?" he reminded.

Before she could reply, a screech sounded from the living room, signaling the end of peacetime.

"Resume hostilities," she muttered under her breath, catching Giles's quick, hidden smile a moment before four screaming toddlers burst into the room.

* * *

Dawn studied her sister and Giles as they scooped the children up neatly and deposited them at the counter. With some surprise, she noticed the practiced ease with which the new nightly ritual began. She didn't think even they were aware of their actions.

"Buffy," Giles murmured, plucking Anya's well-aimed cookie out of the air a second before it hit him in the face, "what, exactly, is a Doublemeat Combo?"

"Hmm?" Buffy was busy frowning at Xander, who was holding his tippy-cup upside down over the counter, watching in fascination as the milk dripped out in single droplets onto the counter. "You don't really want to know," she advised Giles absently, plucking the cup from Xander's hand, and setting it upright on the counter. She grabbed the now-ever-present washcloth from the counter and wiped up the little puddle. "It's a chicken-beef combo burger without any meat in it, but—Xander. No," she said firmly, as the little boy reached again for his cup. Shooting her a reproachful look, he dropped his hand and picked up a cookie, instead.

Giles paused in the act of wiping Oreo out of Tara's hair. "Remind me to ask you later what on Earth you are talking about," he remarked mildly. "But I actually wanted to know why you've been bringing it home so often."

"Well, we found out it didn't have any people in it, so—"

"Pardon me?" Giles snatched Willow by the back of her shirt as she attempted a daring escape. "Sit down," he told the little girl firmly, settling her back on her chair. She glared up at him mutinously for a long moment, then settled for mashing her soggy cookie into mush with her fist. "People?"

"No," repeated Buffy patiently, scooping up Xander and Tara and heading for the stairs. By unspoken consent, Giles grabbed Willow and Anya, and followed suit. "I told you, no people. There was a demon, but it turned out just to be vegetables—it was a whole big thing."

Their voices trailed off as they disappeared into the bathroom, and Dawn hurried to follow, grabbing a bag of Chex Mix on her way. This was setting up to be an excellent show.

"—you _work_ at this place?" Giles was demanding when she showed up, clearly enraged. Damn, she'd missed the best part.

Buffy huffed, plopping Xander unceremoniously into the tub with a splash that made the little boy giggle helplessly. "You told me to handle things—I'm handling them!" she retorted hotly. "I have a job—it pays money. End of story."

"I NEVER meant for you to…to…degrade yourself in this way!" Without missing a beat, the stodgy Watcher helped a squirming Willow out of her overalls and settled her on the potty chair. Dawn had to bite her lip, hard, to keep from snorting out loud.

"Degrade myself?" Buffy demanded, Slayer reflexes in full effect as she snatched the dripping washcloth out of thin air. "Xander, no," she repeated firmly, as the boy reached again for the washcloth, which he appeared to be attempting to use to beat Anya to death. "Please explain to me how paying the bills is degrading," she finished, with a glare for Giles.

"Fast food?" he asked, incredulously. "And you really have to ask?"

In the hallway, Dawn cringed. She would have given the Watcher credit for being a little smoother than this, to be honest.

"You could be doing any one of a number of things, for which you are more than qualified," Giles began, clearly going into Lecture Mode.

Buffy snorted. "I am qualified for nothing," she stressed. "And I don't know why this bothers you so much—"

"It bothers me because it's beneath you!" he snapped. "Why can't you see that?"

"Look." Buffy caught Anya's hand a moment before it disappeared up inside the faucet. "Can we talk about this another time, maybe?"

From the corner of her eye, Dawn spotted Willow tapping impatiently on the Watcher's arm, trying to signal that she was done. She smothered a laugh.

Buffy caught the sound, and looked up. "You know, you could be in here helping, Dawn," she suggested testily, a second before a splash of water caught her directly in the face. Turning, she glared at Xander, but the unrepentant little trouble-maker only grinned brightly at her and raised his hand to do it again. Catching him by the arm, Buffy pulled him out of the tub before he could do any more damage.

"And miss the show?" Dawn retorted, enjoying herself immensely. "I don't think so—you guys are, like, the cutest parents ever."

Giles paused in the act of trading naked children with Buffy. Dangling in mid-air, Tara giggled and squirmed gleefully. "We are not their parents, Dawn," he told her seriously. "We are—er, babysitters."

Buffy plucked Tara out of Giles's grasp before the little girl slipped out of his hands. "And so are you," the Slayer added, with a pointed glance at her sister. "So, babysit already."

"Call it whatever you want, if it helps you sleep at night," Dawn remarked mischievously, standing up and wandering away without a backward glance. "But you look like parents to me."

There, she thought with satisfaction. Let them chew on that for awhile.

* * *

Buffy and Giles stared after her departing form with no small amount of dismay. In reality, Buffy mused, it had actually been kind of a cruel thing to say. It wasn't likely that either she or Giles would ever get to experience being real parents.

She'd never really thought about the idea of Giles as a parent before—which was sad. It was becoming more apparent with every passing moment that Rupert Giles had been _born_ to be a father. Belatedly, she wondered if he'd ever wanted a family of his own.

"Giles," she blurted, before she could stop herself, "why didn't you ever have a family?"

He blinked. "Well…I suppose I could say it was my Calling," he offered quietly. "But that would be a lie. Many Watchers have homes and families—my father was a Watcher, and my grandmother as well. Both were happily married." He looked thoughtful. "I suppose the simple answer is that I never met the right woman, at the right time."

There was something cautious in his words that gave her pause.

"What's the complicated answer?" she asked softly.

He studied her for a long moment, and something in his eyes made her heart beat a little faster. Before he could reply, however, Xander squealed loudly, alerting them both to the fact that Willow was heading for the hills. Or, in this case, the hall.

"Bedtime," he murmured evasively, scooping up Anya and chasing the little escapee.

Buffy was disappointed, but unfortunately, he was right. They needed to get the kids to bed, she needed to patrol, there was laundry to do…she felt tired just thinking of it all.

By the time she got Xander and Tara down the hall and into the bedroom, Giles had tucked the other two firmly into bed, and was lecturing Anya, who was trying to climb back out.

Buffy grinned. It cracked her up to see the way Giles spoke to the kids—so seriously, like they were little adults. Which they were, she supposed. But not, y'know, really.

"Maybe you could tell them a story?" she suggested, dumping Xander on the bed carelessly, just to make the little boy giggle. She loved the sound of his little giggle—she should tell him that when he was all grown up again.

"A-a story?" Giles looked as if he had never considered the possibility before.

"Towee!" agreed Xander enthusiastically. Willow clapped her little hands.

Gesturing at the eager children, Buffy smiled. "Sounds like a yea vote to me," she told him, enjoying his bewilderment for one long moment before abandoning him to his fate.

"Where are you going?'' he called after her, sounding a little desperate. She didn't stop—just ducked outside the door and hovered in the hall, waiting to see what would happen.

"Dear Lord," Giles muttered, and she bit her lip to hold in a laugh. The bed creaked, and sounds of childish shuffles were all she could hear for a moment. Finally, his voice reached her again, pitched low, and only slightly hesitant.

"Once upon a time," he said softly, "there were four little children…"

With a smile on her lips and a strange ache in her heart, Buffy slipped away down the hall. She had work to do.

* * *

Giles was waiting up for her when she got home that night. The poor girl looked wiped out, as always. He didn't even question her about patrol, just led her upstairs to bed.

Surprisingly, there was no discomfort this time, as he returned from the bathroom to the now-familiar sight of his Slayer curled up beneath the covers, wearing his pajamas and half-asleep. He slid into bed next to her, trying not to disturb her.

"Giles," she murmured softly in the darkness.

"Yes?"

"Tell me a story," she mumbled.

He paused for a long moment, but there was something lonely in her voice he found he couldn't ignore. Feeling only a little silly, he obeyed.

"Once upon a time, there was a woman—a very strong woman, and she was bright and brave and very kind. She had many friends, and many gifts, but very little faith in herself. She was a warrior, you see, and a brilliant one—but she falsely believed that because she was Chosen to fight, she could do nothing else. This woman had a—a friend, who wanted very much to make her see how special she was, but he was old, and fumbling, and didn't know what to say. For many years, he stood beside her, watching her settle again and again for so much less than she deserved." He paused, glancing at Buffy to see if she was still awake. She was—her eyes glittered at him in the moonlight, and he wondered if she was crying.

"What happened to the woman?" she asked quietly.

Giles smiled in the darkness. "One day she woke up and looked into a mirror," he extemporized. "And this was a very special mirror—the kind that shows only the truth. What she saw there was the extraordinary woman she truly was—a beautiful, courageous, intelligent woman. A hero. She saw it, and she believed, and for the first time, she knew, she would never have to settle for anything less than the very best again."

For a moment, there was silence. Just when he was wondering if he'd gone too far—if he'd revealed too much—he heard a muffled sound, and she spoke again, her voice a little husky.

"What happened to her…friend?"

He hesitated. "He watched over her all his days, and never tired of seeing her smile. She was next to him when he died, surrounded by her children, and grandchildren on the way, and she held his hand. Her smiling face was the last thing he saw. And he was able to believe he'd had some part in giving her that life, and so he died a happy man."

A long stillness followed his words, and he'd almost decided she was asleep after all, when suddenly she shifted, bringing her body to rest against his. Wrapping her arm around his waist, she buried her face against his chest, and promptly fell asleep.

He was frozen, unable to breathe. Her slight body fitted perfectly to his bigger one, and all he could do was close his eyes tightly and try to memorize this moment.

Long into the night, he lay awake, doing what he did best. Watching her.


	4. Something More

Disclaimers found in Chapter One

Chapter Four

Something More

_"Read me the signs!" _A book flew past his head, crashing into the wall next to him. _"Tell me my fortune! You're so helpful, sitting here with all of your books!"_

Giles was standing in the library at Sunnydale High. His heart was shattering with every desperate word. What could he say to her? He, her Watcher, who was sent here to get her killed? Bile rose in his throat.

"_I'm sixteen years old,"_ she pleaded brokenly. _"I don't want to die."_

He reached out, trying to touch her, needing to clutch her and beg her not to go…but she was fading—everything was fading, and there was only darkness.

Gradually, he became aware that he was weeping. Strong arms surrounded him, and foreign tears were mingling with his own. The darkness faded, revealing a burning factory, and the memory flooded over him. _Jenny. Jenny was gone. _He cried in earnest, then, clinging to his Slayer as the world burned down behind them.

_"You can't leave me," _she wept against his hair, and he knew she was crying with him. For him. For all of them. _"I can't do this alone!_"

He tried to tell her she'd never have to—he'd never leave her, he couldn't—but his throat was choked with tears, and the words wouldn't come, and slowly, his Slayer faded away, leaving him clinging to nothingness as the darkness claimed him again. Voices floated, disembodied, around him in the blackness.

_"You poisoned me."_ Buffy's voice, sick with anger. Anger at him.

"_A father's love for the child…"_

_"Whatever I have to do…to win back your trust."_

_"A father's love—"_

_"I don't know you anymore."_

The scene lightened as though the lights were coming up on a play, revealing the image he'd never wanted to see again—Buffy's face, bruised and torn and so betrayed. Quentin, smug and hateful, firing him—trying to take her away from him.

He deserved it. He _had_ poisoned her—my God, what kind of monster _was _he?

He wanted to apologize—God, she deserved at least that—but once again, no words would come. What could he say? He, who had been more treacherous than any vampire….

She faded away again, and with her the light left the room, until all was dark once again.

_"Is this a bad time?" _Buffy's voice sounded again in the darkness, and he looked around until he was able to make out his apartment, slowly emerging from the gloom. Olivia was just ducking out of the room—what was _she_ doing here?"

_"This is a bad time," _Buffy kept repeating, looking flustered and upset.

He wanted to brush the words away, wanted to tell her he would help her, but to his horror, he heard himself sending her away. The look on her face made him ill—what was he _doing?_

He reached for her retreating form, but the door closed with a _click_, enclosing him in darkness once again. He floated, aimless, trying to find her, but the air was like black velvet, smothering him, and he couldn't breathe.

And then it wasn't. He looked around, his heart lurching. _No!_

He was frozen in place, staring in horror at the torn, bleeding hole in the sky. He knew this place—he wanted to run, but, as he had known it would, fear kept him locked in place, unable to do anything but watch…watch the only thing he'd ever loved as she leapt….

She seemed to fall forever. It was a grotesquely graceful swan dive through space, her body glowing with an almost holy light, even as hell itself surrounded her. He tried to scream, but the words came out in a choked whisper only he would ever hear, snatched away by the wind; her words, in his voice…a helpless plea.

"_You can't leave me. I can't do this alone."_

Giles came awake with a start. His heart was pounding, and he thought he might be sick. He'd had the nightmares since she died—always different, and always the same, a litany of moments when he'd failed her; a hundred thousand things he should have said.

The tower was always what woke him—the memory of that place. Of watching her fall….watching her die.

Buffy shifted in his arms, bringing him for the first time to a full awareness of where he was.

He should be horrified. They were curled together once again, entwined like lovers in the center of the bed. Xander and Tara had made another appearance, and Buffy's hand rested comfortingly on the little girl's back, even in sleep.

It was all so…_familial_. His heart skipped. It would be so easy, to pretend…

And why not? he asked himself desperately. She's here, in my arms…why not pretend? Just for a little while…

* * *

This time, there was no disorientation upon waking up in Giles's arms. Buffy smiled slowly, content to lay still and enjoy the feeling of his arms around her, his thumb tracing absent circles on her hip in a way that was definitely raising her temperature—wait a minute. 

Tracing circles?

_He was awake_!

She raised her eyes to his, a hot flush creeping up her cheeks as the implications of those sexy little circles just got a whole lot bigger.

Warm green eyes gazed steadily back at her. His face was a little flushed, but he wasn't backing off, either.

Buffy could barely breathe. "Good morning," she whispered, a little more huskily than she had intended.

"Good morning." His thumb kept up that tiny, sweeping movement, and her heart stopped, then threatened to thunder right out of her chest. "We have guests again, as you can see."

She nodded without looking, unable to tear her gaze from his. "I forgot to ask yesterday," she managed, trying to sound casual and failing. "How's the research coming?"

"I found a few spells that could do this," he reported, his own voice a little gritty. Was it just because it was morning? Was it…was it because of her?

"Really?" She had no idea what she was saying. She was just murmuring absently, trying to hold off the moment when he would stop touching her. Her pulse was racing.

"I don't think it's Ethan," he offered, never stopping that tiny, delicious touch. "He's still in Nevada by all accounts."

Who was Ethan? "Bummer," she breathed, unable to think of anything intelligent to say. Was this really Giles? Sweet, stuffy Giles, who still stuttered when she hugged him?

"Indeed," he murmured, faint amusement lacing his tone. His thumb brushed upward, just a little—just enough to slip beneath the hem of her shirt, resuming his teasing touch against the bare skin of her waist.

"Oh, god…" The whisper slipped out before she could call it back, and Giles's eyes widened in concern, his thumb halting its lazy strokes. She wanted to beg him not to stop, but she didn't quite have the nerve.

Something must have showed in her face, because understanding dawned on his. His eyes blazed with sudden heat, and she couldn't hear him breathing any more. He swept his thumb in a bolder, wider stroke, and she thought she would explode with the force of her heartbeat alone. Something was happening here…what was it?

Tara chose that moment to shift in her sleep, and the motion was enough to break the spell. Giles whipped his hand away almost guiltily, swearing under his breath in five different languages.

Buffy managed a breathless giggle, and he shot her a rueful look.

She couldn't let it end like this—they couldn't just get up and pretend nothing had happened. She couldn't handle that.

But what could she say? This was hardly the place to beg him for wild monkey love—two toddlers slept peacefully, right there in bed. Besides, what if she was misunderstanding the situation? What if this was just an extension of Stealth Snuggling Giles? He cuddles in his sleep, he's a little…um, amorous in the morning…but what happens when he's fully awake?

Nothing, she acknowledged ruefully. Nothing whatsoever.

But maybe…maybe she could convince him?

She almost giggled again—she couldn't help it, it seemed so silly. Was she really going to try to seduce her Watcher?

Yes, she decided giddily. She certainly was.

There wasn't much she could do with the kids in the bed, but she could at least stall that inevitable moment when they would have to untangle their sleep-entwined bodies.

_All right_, she thought helplessly. _So stall already_.

"If you leave your laundry where I can find it, I'll clean those pants today," she blurted in a whisper, then flushed to the roots of her hair. Oh, that was romantic. Remind him of Anya's little…accident. Because, urine? Always an excellent seduction tactic.

He groaned quietly at the memory. "I'll buy new ones," he assured her. "I don't think I could live with the memory."

Well, at least he wasn't moving yet. Chalk it up to the win column.

"They're on me," she offered. At his horrified expression, she replayed the sentence in her head, and choked back a slightly hysterical laugh that threatened to wake the children. "Not the…the pee-pants," she assured him. "The new ones. I mean, not _on_ me…I'll pay for them. Is what I meant."

His brow cleared, and he smothered a chuckle of his own. "I'm terribly relieved to hear that," he informed her dryly.

She giggled again. She liked Morning Giles, she decided. He was so…relaxed. Not to mention affectionate…she pushed the thought away. She was stalling, she reminded herself firmly.

"By the way," she asked pointedly, poking him lightly in the chest, "you wouldn't happen to know where little Xander picked up the word 'pillock', would you?"

He flushed. "I didn't think he'd heard that."

"He hears everything," Buffy pointed out. "Especially where you're concerned. You've got yourself quite a little worshipper, there."

Slightly embarrassed by the observation, Giles chuckled. "Yes, well, when he returns to adulthood, I intend to lord that over him to no end."

Buffy smiled. "And he'll be embarrassed, and he'll deny it—and you'll still be his hero. You always were."

He cleared his throat softly, discomfited by the praise. "Interesting way he has of showing it," he remarked grumpily, and Buffy tried not to laugh. Poor Giles. Emotions made him so cranky. Must be because he was British.

Tara shifted again, and her eyes fluttered open. Uh-oh. Time was up.

Buffy sighed as they unwound their limbs, gathering up their little friends. Wistfully, she eyed the bed they were leaving behind. She wished it could be morning all the time.

* * *

Giles studied his Slayer surreptitiously over breakfast. Scrambled eggs, again. She really did need to learn to cook. 

The morning's events ran through his mind, yet again. He was shocked at himself—at his forwardness. And at her response.

His breath hitched at the memory alone, and he had to force himself to continue eating as though everything was normal. She had responded to him—she'd been warm, and sleepy, and probably he was a bastard for taking advantage of that…but she had responded, all the same.

Could she see him as more than a father-figure? More than a stuffy old Watcher?

It didn't seem possible.

And yet...

The sound of her broken whisper replayed in his mind, his body tightening at the memory. If the children hadn't been there…

But they had. In fact, the children were the only reason _he_ had been there. And when this was over, he was going back to England. Buffy would have a new Watcher, now. He couldn't forget that.

Unless he told her. What did he have to lose, after all? He could tell her, and maybe…

He swallowed, the very thought of her reaction scaring the life out of him. His relationship with Buffy was turning upside down, and he frankly didn't know what to make of it. Her affectionate touches, her frequent praise, and thanks…

And her decision to let the Council replace him in her life.

It didn't make sense.

She was a sight, this morning, as always. Their lingering…encounter…had not given her time to shower before the children were awake and clamoring for her attention. As a result, she was still wandering around in his boxer shorts, filling his mind with images he was still not _quite_ able to act on. It was confusing an already confused situation.

He stood abruptly, startling little Willow. He needed to get some distance. Maybe, with a few hours away, he could figure this thing out.

"I'm leaving for the Magic Box," he told Buffy, who nodded distractedly from her position at the counter, mediating yet another fight between Anya and Xander.

The argument ceased immediately as the kids noticed him leaving. Already accustomed to the new morning ritual, they slid off their chairs, one by one, and followed him to the door, a smiling Buffy on their heels.

He waved goodbye to the little band on the porch, conflicting emotions battling for supremacy. Part of him wanted to keep driving until he reached LA, and hop the first flight back to England, and his calm, uncluttered life there.

And part of him wanted to turn the car around and run back to his makeshift little family, and spend the day—or the year, or his life—basking in childish smiles and morning cuddles.

He needed to research. As soon as he figured out how to restore the kids to their rightful ages, maybe things would calm down.

* * *

"What do you mean, it's broken?" Andrew's whiny voice cut into Warren's train of thought, grating on his last nerve. 

He glared at his effeminate friend, sick of the constant explanations. They were supposed to be _supervillains._ You'd think they could figure _some_ things out for themselves.

"I _mean_," he stressed irritably, "that it's _broken_. Kaput. This Deceleration Beam has ceased to be! How many languages do you need me to say this in before you get the drift?"

"You could say it in Klingon," suggested Jonathan brightly. "That would be—ow!" He rubbed his arm, shooting Warren a dirty look. "You didn't have to hit me," he complained.

"Can we fix it?" Andrew asked anxiously. "I mean, we didn't get the Slayer—we have to do something!"

Warren growled. "Of course I could fix it," he said, speaking very slowly. "But I need another Mandelusian Orb, which we _don't have._ Until we get that Orb, this thing is worthless."

"So, where do we find this Orb?" Jonathan asked reasonably.

Rolling his eyes, Warren sighed. These guys were worthless. "Probably LA. That _is_ where we got the first one."

"Cool," Andrew put in. "Road trip!"


	5. The Penny Drops

Disclaimers found in Chapter One

Chapter Five

The Penny Drops

"I've got a lovely bunch of co-co-nuts," Buffy sang softly. She wiggled her hips, waving the dishrag. "There they are all standing in a rooow—oof!" A particularly jaunty step backwards brought her up against something hard. She froze, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

Refusing to turn around, she closed her eyes. "Giles?" she asked, a bright flush already suffusing her face.

"Yes?" The amusement in his voice confirmed it—he'd seen the whole thing. She cringed, hoping that he'd at least come in after she'd finished "I Just Can't Wait To Be King."

There had been a chorus line and everything.

She groaned. "Please go out and come in again," she pleaded. "And let's pretend this never happened."

"Would that really make you feel better?" he asked, laughter lacing every word.

"No," she admitted, finally turning around to meet the twinkling green eyes. It was almost worth the humiliation, just to see the smile on his face. Of course, she reflected sadly, this was probably going to set her seduction plans back considerably. "But it would make me feel better if you stopped laughing."

He appeared to make a conscious effort to do so, but he was not having much luck. "I'm very much afraid that's not going to be possible," he told her, his grin widening in spite of himself. "But I must ask—do you take requests?"

"Giles!" She buried her face in her hands. "Have some pity!"

"Perhaps something in the Elton John oeuvre," he suggested mercilessly.

She hit him in the arm. "Cut it out!" Casting around for a subject change, she asked desperately, "Why are you home so early, anyway?"

He allowed her the escape, still smiling. "I actually found something that might be useful," he told her. With a decidedly un-Gilesy look of mischief in his eyes, he added slyly, "Although, had I known there was going to be a performance in progress, I should never have gone in at all."

She glared. "Focus, you big meanie. What did you find?"

He gave in, moving to fill the teakettle. "It might be nothing. It's a…a spell, of sorts. There's a mention of something called the Mandelusian Orb in some of my books. It's referred to as a sort of mystical channel of youth. I've ignored it, up to now, because the spell required to utilize the Orb has been lost for centuries. However, today an occult store based in LA called the shop. They were looking for a Mandelusian Orb, most of which have been lost for nearly as long as the spell itself. Apparently he has an order, and he sold the only one he had just over a week ago." He gave her a significant look. "He also mentioned that he sold it to the same customer who is now requesting a new one. He couldn't fathom what this young man could want with a second Orb, since the first one is worthless as anything more than a pretty prism. He attempted to offer the customer a different Orb, but the man was quite insistent."

Buffy processed this. Something about it was tickling at the back of her mind, but she couldn't place it. "A young man?" she asked.

"An unpleasant youth, he said—but human, which is why I came home. You mentioned seeing a demon, did you not?"

She hesitated. "I saw three shadows," she finally replied. "And the Blue Light Special. That's all."

What was she supposed to be remembering, here? _Human. Three shadows._ The answer danced around in the back of her mind, taunting her.

Giles sighed. "A dead end, most likely. The Orb is supposedly useless. Even if anyone had managed to find the spell, it would take a powerful sorcerer to use it. And with Ethan tucked away in Nevada, I simply don't know of any others who could possibly have a reason to try to hurt you or your friends. And the young man was, after all, in LA. It's not an impossible trip, but certainly lessens the likelihood that the two things are related. Certainly no one has attempted to purchase one of these orbs at the Magic Box."

That didn't feel quite right. She knew the answer to this…if she could only think—

"Where are the children?" Giles asked suddenly, seeming to notice their absence for the first time.

"Dawn has them upstairs," she replied. When he glanced at the clock in surprise, she nodded wryly. "She ditched class—apple doesn't fall far, does it? Said she wanted to come home and help out. I suspect she was trying to get out of her history test." He shot her a disapproving look, and she grinned. "Oh, she's grounded," she assured him. "But in the meantime, I'm happy to let her help out all she wants."

Just then, Dawn meandered down the stairs, stopping guiltily when she spotted Giles. "Oh," she said lamely, "hi, Giles."

"You should be at school," he reproved gently.

The younger girl flushed, but didn't back down. "You should be at work," she retorted.

"Yes, it's quite a day for playing hooky," Buffy interrupted, heading off an actual confrontation. "You're _both_ grounded. So what does everyone want for dinner?"

Giles and Dawn went from Standoff Mode to Co-Conspirator Mode in a matter of seconds, trading a look Buffy refused to try to decipher.

"The first person to insult my cooking goes hungry," she announced, glaring at the guilty-looking pair.

"What happens to the second person?" Dawn had the nerve to ask. Buffy threw the dishrag at her.

"That person has to eat it," she threatened.

Dawn looked at Giles. "I get to go first," she declared, without missing a beat.

Giles glared. "I'm your elder—_I_ should get to go first."

"Hey, why should _I_ have to be the one to eat it?" Dawn demanded.

Buffy threw up her hands in defeat. "You both deserve to have to eat it," she remarked. "You're mean."

"You do realize," Giles observed mildly, "that _you_ have just become the first among us to openly insult your cooking. Therefore, by my calculations, you must go hungry. Since you're not eating, we'd never dream of asking you to cook. Dawn, I believe you and I shall order a pizza."

Buffy narrowed her eyes. "I hate you both," she informed them.

Dawn ignored her. "If you go out to pick it up," she advised, "pick up something for desert, too. The bakery next to the pizza place has awesome pies. Get a pumpkin one."

"You like pumpkin pie?" Giles asked innocently. Too innocently. He stood to go, casting a merry glance at Buffy on his way out. "Personally, I find myself with an almost unbearable urge for coconut."

He disappeared before Buffy could find anything to throw at him. What had gotten into him today?

Dawn gave her a quizzical glance. "What was _that_ all about?" she asked curiously.

"Go back upstairs and babysit," Buffy evaded, picking up the discarded dishrag from the table. "I'm cleaning."

"The kids are napping," her sister replied, smiling blissfully. "Isn't that a wonderful sentence? The. Kids. Are. Napping." She tilted her face up to the ceiling. "They're silent, and they're asleep. And right now, I love my life."

Buffy chuckled. She'd felt that same way every day since this whole thing had started. "Well, the kids are asleep, and the kitchen is plenty clean enough. What do you say we go watch some TV?"

"Can we watch _The Lion King_?" Dawn asked, making her way to the door. "I haven't gotten to watch it since Giles brought it home."

Buffy gritted her teeth. "Try it, and I'll slay you," she growled. "I'm never watching that stupid movie again."

* * *

Giles couldn't stop smiling. All the way to the pizza parlor, and then to the bakery, where he manfully fought the urge to bring home a coconut pie, just to watch Buffy's face.

He knew his behavior was unlike him—but then, what wasn't, these days? He was changing diapers, bathing toddlers, fondling his Slayer…he flushed.

He should be more concerned about their situation, he thought ruefully. After all, they still had no idea what they were dealing with, and the Scoobies were losing valuable time from school and work. Not to mention the fact that Buffy had been fired for calling in three days in a row. Which was a relief, he had to admit—thinking of her working in that place had made his blood boil—but he knew it would put her already-shaky financial situation right back into trouble. He sighed. There was a lot to worry about.

And yet…and yet, he was having _fun_. It couldn't be denied.

Buffy was a revelation. She reminded him a little more every day of her former, carefree, silly self. He hadn't realized, until now, just how much he'd missed her laughter. Watching her dance and sing around the kitchen today had lifted his spirits like nothing else in the world.

Because she had thought she was alone.

He'd been afraid to trust the changes he was seeing in her, he realized. Afraid that she was putting on a show for him. She had admitted that she wanted him to come home—what if she had been putting on an act, to convince him? The laughter, the hugs—even their encounter this morning, and her apparent enjoyment of his touch—what if they were all a performance? An attempt to appear "normal"? The sadness in her eyes was unmistakable at times, which he had told himself was to be expected. But it hadn't changed the fear he'd been clinging to—the fear that, when no one was looking, she was still finding ways to self-destruct. To kill herself, slowly but surely, in a subconscious hope that she would actually die. Again.

And he would have to watch it happen.

Again.

He wasn't afraid of that anymore. He pulled the Jeep into the driveway, allowing a smile to creep across his face.

She'd been dancing.

* * *

Something had changed between Buffy and Giles.

Dawn studied the two surreptitiously over the open pizza box on the table. The children sat at the counter, happily pelting one another with pieces of cookie, which none of the adults was even trying to stop anymore. As long as they weren't openly attacking one another or injuring themselves, they could do whatever would keep them happy and out of trouble.

Kitchens—and toddlers—could always be cleaned later.

Buffy playfully swatted Giles' hand away from the last piece of pizza. "You've had four already," the Slayer announced. "I've been counting."

"Well, _you_ certainly shouldn't get to have it," Giles objected. "You haven't eaten half of what's on your plate."

Buffy surveyed the three narrow pizza crusts littering her plate. "What do you mean? I've eaten all of it!"

Giles gave a long-suffering sigh, and picked up one of her crusts. "Open wide," he said, speaking slowly, as if to one of the children.

"That's not pizza, that's crmmph—" Buffy's sentence broke off, as Giles took advantage of her open mouth to shove a pizza crust inside. Buffy glared. He grinned unrepentantly, tucking a gentle finger under her jaw to push her mouth closed. His touch lingered a moment longer than was necessary.

Buffy's gaze softened for a moment before she seemed to remember herself, and opened her mouth wide, treating them all to a charming view of partially-chewed pizza crust.

Giles shook his head. "Very mature," he observed, amused. He reached up, casually brushing a crumb from Buffy's chin.

Dawn's own jaw dropped open.

_That's_ what had changed between them! They were all…touchy. And jokey. It was unlike her sister, at least lately, but it was _really_ unlike Giles-

Her eyes widened. Was it even remotely possible that these two were figuring things out on their own? It didn't seem possible—Buffy was not exactly Emote-O-Gal these days, although she had admittedly been getting much better since the whole invisible thing. And Giles—Giles was, like, the Most British Man in the Whole World. She didn't think these two would acknowledge a genuine emotion if it were staring them in the face.

Which, actually, had been her Master Plan. She'd been chasing them around behind their backs with a camera for the last two days, fully intending to shove their fledgling relationship right under their noses—or up them, if necessary—until one or both of them was willing to admit what was really going on.

It was beginning to look like that would be unnecessary. She was almost disappointed.

Oh, well. At least she'd end up with some great blackmail photos for the rest of the gang. Bright side to everything. Maybe she should start a Hellmouth Hall of Fame photo collection, she mused. Enough weird things happened around here to fill a dozen albums.

"You know what I just realized/" she remarked idly, forgetting for a moment that she wasn't supposed to be sharing her Master Plan with her victims, at least until she was sure they were on the right track. "We need a photo album."

"A photo album?" Buffy asked around the last of her pizza crust. "We have a bunch of photo albums, Dawn."

"Yeah, but wouldn't it be funny to have a Hellmouth album?"

Giles looked appalled. "You'd like us to start photographing demons before we kill them?"

Dawn giggled. "Well, no, but now that you mention it…" She shrugged. "I just thought we could take pictures of some of the funnier stuff—like the guys being babies, stuff like that." She turned to Buffy. "It would have been _really_ funny if we could have gotten pictures of Invisible Buffy. Put a hat on your head, maybe give you some flowers to hold—"

"Invisible Buffy!" Her sister's sudden shout made Dawn jump a mile. At the counter, Xander squeaked in surprise, and Tara looked like she might start to cry.

Giles was looking at her sister oddly. Dawn couldn't blame him. Had Buffy lost her mind?

"It's the three idiots! They've been stalking me!" The Slayer sounded positively overjoyed by this. "I'm such a _loser_!" she added happily. "I knew there was something I should have known! I can't believe what a dummy I am!"

"Buffy, really," Giles observed, blinking, "this free-association monologue of yours is fascinating, but it's not making you look particularly…er, stable. I do hope you have a point?"

Her sister drew a deep breath. "Sorry." She looked at Giles. "It's just—I know who did this! At least, I'm pretty sure I do."

It clicked. Dawn smacked her own forehead. "Oh, my god, you _are_ a loser!" she told Buffy. "And so am I!"

Giles raised an eyebrow. "Is _anyone_ planning to actually _tell_ me who did this?" he asked mildly.

Buffy patted his knee. "Sorry, Giles. There are these three guys—nerds, actually—one of them is that kid Jonathan, from high school." She gazed expectantly at her Watcher, who nodded, clearly waiting for her to go on. "Anyway, they've been stalking me, doing all kinds of stupid stuff—spells and demons and weird lint that makes time go all wonky. Remember? You thought I was nuts." She nudged him irritably. "Anyway, a little while ago they made this weird gun thing out of a diamond or something, and turned me invisible. I almost died—remember I mentioned a story about Buffy pudding? That was it." She stopped to take a breath, then smiled brightly. "Anyway, I know they're behind this. It's exactly the kind of irritating thing they do. And Warren? The leader of the gang? He definitely qualifies as an 'unpleasant youth'."

Giles gazed at her thoughtfully for a moment, before nodding. "And do you know where to find these three…er, nerds?"

Buffy deflated. "Well, no," she admitted. "But I will. At least now I know who I'm looking for."

The Watcher hesitated. "Are you certain, Buffy? As I said, it would take a very powerful sorcerer, and three young boys—"

Buffy shook her head. "It's them, Giles. I don't know how it's them, but I know it's them. And when I find them, you can ask them all the questions you want. Once I finish pounding them into the floor."

Giles nodded. "In that case," he suggested, "I recommend we get bath-time over with as soon as possible, so that you can patrol."

* * *

Patrol wasn't going very well at all. She'd been walking for an hour, but without Willow's computer-savvy assistance, she didn't even know where to begin looking for the Nerd Herd's hideout. She rolled her eyes. She wasn't even going to get the satisfaction of staking them after she found them.

A telltale tightening in her stomach alerted her to the vampire's presence a moment before she saw him. He was…a fashion _nightmare_. She gaped. Red leather pants that clung like a second skin, a white velvet button-front shirt, left partially open at the collar to reveal pasty white chest, and a pair of what looked like white vinyl boots. She cringed.

"Slayer," he growled, obviously aiming for 'sinister and threatening'. He landed somewhere near 'mildly constipated.' She smothered a laugh.

She flicked her wrist, allowing the stake to fall comfortably into her hand. "Slayee," she greeted calmly.

The vampire raised an eyebrow, and made a slight gesture with his hand. Three of what could only be described as his 'henchvamps' stepped out of the trees nearby, moving in on her from all directions.

The leader—if you could call him that—sneered. "Four on one," he observed. "I don't like your odds."

She made a sympathetic sound. "Oh. You must be pretty new, then, huh?"

The vampire directly behind her lunged. Buffy never took her eyes off the leader as she thrust the stake backwards, dusting her attacker without turning around. The other two vamps moved quickly, coming at her from both sides. Twisting, she grabbed one by the arm and pulled, stepping backwards just in time to send him flying into his partner. She swept out her foot in a low roundhouse kick, taking them both to the ground, and staked them in quick succession. Dusting off her hands, she turned back to the leader.

"Do you like my odds any better, now?" she asked innocently. When she saw he was going to run, she grabbed his arm. "No?" She shrugged philosophically. "That's okay. I don't like _your_ outfit."

She dusted him easily, shaking her head. "That was just pathetic," she muttered. "I mean, white vinyl boots?"

"You're still dropping your shoulder." The wry British voice startled her. "Also, you're still insisting on conversing with them, I see."

Buffy grinned at him and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know. 'Plunge and move on, plunge and move on.' Tell me, Giles. Was that in the _handbook_?"

He had the grace to look embarrassed. "Yes, well…"

"What are you doing out here, anyway?" she demanded. "Did you leave Dawn alone with the kids?"

He nodded. "They were sleeping—she said she could handle it. I wanted to let you know that the store owner in LA called again. He left a message at the Magic Box, letting me know he had found the Orb, and the young man was coming back to pick it up tomorrow. So, the boys you are looking for are, in all likelihood, not in Sunnydale at the moment."

Buffy nodded. "Thanks for the heads-up," she told him. "In that case, I hereby declare patrol finished for the evening, and recommend heading for the house before the kids wake up and Dawn totally loses her cool."

"Agreed."

They walked in companionable silence, but Buffy's thoughts were racing. They were alone. This would be an excellent time to put those seduction plans into action.

Unfortunately, she could not think of a single thing to say.

It was ridiculous, really. She was not unfamiliar with the concept of flirting. But then, this was Giles. _Giles._ The absurdity of the whole situation struck her anew, and she felt a moment's fear.

Flirting with Giles could have major repercussions. For one thing, he was her Watcher, and arguably the most important person in her entire life. If she just blurted out her feelings, he was liable to stutter his way right back to England on the first outbound flight. She couldn't handle the thought of any more awkwardness between them.

This was a bad idea. In fact, she couldn't believe she'd ever even _thought_ this was a good idea. It was…this was _Giles._

On the other hand…this was Giles.

Giles who had fought for her, and protected her, and spent countless sleepless nights frantically researching ways to save her life. Giles, who had attempted to face the Master in her place. Giles, who had skewered the Mayor for threatening her, and been fired from the Council for her, and had held her in his arms when her mother died. Giles, who sang like an angel, and snuggled in his sleep.

This was Giles.

Screw flirting, she was going to kiss him. She was just going to grab him and kiss him, that was all, and he would just have to deal with it.

She was going to have to hurry—they were home already, and if she waited any longer, they would actually be inside the house. She drew a deep breath.

"Buffy?"

The voice from the shadows took ten years off her life. She jumped a mile, whirling around, and felt Giles do the same.

Her stomach dropped when the figure emerged from the darkness. Oh, this was bad. This was very, very bad.

She closed her eyes. "Hello, Dad."


	6. New Beginnings

Disclaimers found in Chapter One

Chapter Six

Outside Looking In

Hank Summers stared at the daughter he hadn't seen since—oh, hell. Years. At least. A twinge of familiar guilt ate at him, but he shoved it aside, offering a friendly smile at Buffy and her…friend.

"It's good to see you again," he told her, and meant it—he hadn't ever meant to let things go for so long. She looked…shell-shocked.

"Dad," she repeated, her voice a little strangled. "Oh, my god. I forgot-"

He stepped forward, concerned. "Buffy, it's okay," he assured her. "I should have called to remind you I was coming."

This didn't appear to have the reassuring effect he'd been hoping for. She was just staring at him, mouth slightly agape. The older man with her didn't look much happier.

Who was this guy, anyway?

"I knocked," he remarked, trying to fill the empty air their silence was leaving behind, "but nobody answered. Where's Dawnie?"

Buffy and her friend traded a complicated look. "Maybe she didn't hear the knock," Buffy replied finally, her tone evasive and carefully neutral. "Also, it's dark. We, uh…we don't like her answering the door after dark."

This startled a laugh out of him. "Even for her father?" he asked lightly. "It's good to be cautious, but that seems a little over-the-top, don't you think?"

Apparently, they did not. Another of those mysterious glances swept between them, and then the older man put a gentle hand on Buffy's shoulder. Hank's eyes narrowed.

'Perhaps we should take this inside," the man suggested, with a pointed glance over his shoulder. Buffy nodded, and the gesture had a helpless look.

"Uh, Dad…" she began, unlocking the door. "I have to warn you…this is a—well, this is kind of a _really_ bad time. Maybe…maybe we could hook up tomorrow?"

The rejection stung, just a little, but Hank took it like a man. He'd been gone a long time—he'd made a lot of mistakes, and he could hardly expect his daughters to drop everything now, just because he wanted to have dinner. He drew a breath, forcing himself to respond lightly.

"No problem," he said smoothly. "I'll just come in and say hi to Dawn, if that's all right?"

Another strange look. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that these two were having whole conversations he didn't understand, and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Who was this man—and what was he doing with Buffy?

The stranger was tall, and British, and oddly familiar. He looked close to Hank's own age, which immediately made him wonder what the man's place was in his daughters' lives. Was this, perhaps, Joyce's boyfriend? Had he taken a substitute-father role? The thought brought a new wave of resentment, but he forced it down, telling himself he should be grateful the man had stuck around. Even after Joyce's death.

It was more than _he_ had managed to do.

When had he lost control of his life so completely?

Buffy had opened the door while he was lost in his inner monologue, and now she was looking at him expectantly. He hesitated for a moment, figuring he owed it to her to at least wait to be invited. This was her house, now, and he had a feeling it wouldn't go over well if he suddenly turned back up expecting to play the father again, all at once.

She merely gazed at him silently, as if waiting for something. So did the man she was with. There was something very strange about the whole thing, and Hank was growing frustrated with his inability to understand what was going on.

Eventually, with nothing else to do, he gave her a little nod and stepped through the door. She sighed a little, and it sounded almost like relief.

What was going _on_?

"So, Buffy, are you going to introduce me to your friend?" He managed a friendly smile at the British man, who was staring at him with a carefully neutral expression.

Buffy closed the front door, sighing. "Yeah. Of course. Um, Dad, this is Rupert Giles." She turned to the older guy with a little shrug. "Giles, my dad. Hank Summers."

Mr. Giles held out his hand, and Hank shook it, something teasing at the back of his mind. Rupert Giles. Wasn't that—

His face lightened. "You're the librarian from Buffy's old school," he announced with a wide smile. Joyce had told him that Buffy had grown close to the man, and that he had helped their young daughter with everything from studying to some sort of martial arts training. Joyce had smothered a laugh when she'd said it, and Hank wondered idly if Buffy was any good.

Mr. Giles, hesitated, and then nodded, smiling somewhat weakly. "Yes. Yes, I am. You have a very special family, Mr. Summers."

Hank gazed proudly at Buffy. "Yes, I do," he agreed. Turning to the librarian, he smiled. "I understand you've been something of a mentor to my little girl, here."

Buffy stiffened, and Hank instantly regretted the words 'little girl'. She evidently chose not to say anything about it, settling for squaring her shoulders.

Mr. Giles was giving Buffy a quizzical glance. "Y-yes," he stammered, seeming to choose his words carefully. "I suppose you could say—"

"He's my friend, Dad." Buffy interrupted the older man's stuttering.

Hank blinked. All right, then. Friend it was.

"Buffy!" Dawn's voice sounded from the top of the stairs, and Buffy's shoulders stiffened, her eyes widening in what looked like alarm. "You have to come up here! And bring Giles—you guys gotta see this. Xander and Tara are all cuddled up in the middle of your guys' bed…it's so cute…" Her voice trailed off as she came into view, stopping dead at the top of the stairwell. Her eyes were wide as she gazed at her father. "Oh, crap," she muttered.

Hank was hardly listening. _Their bed?_ This man—her _high school librarian_—was _sleeping_ with his daughter? With her teenaged sister under the same roof?

Buffy was holding up her hands in a placating gesture. "Dad, this isn't what it—"

"_What the hell is going on here?_" Hank bellowed, unable to let this go. Buffy may have every right to be angry, but she was still his daughter, and he would not see her taken advantage of by some old man—

"—looks like," Buffy finished lamely, closing her eyes.

"Don't yell!" Dawn was whispering heatedly, casting quick glances over her shoulder. "You'll wake the—"

A childish cry interrupted her, followed by another, and then another.

Hank froze.

"Dad," Buffy said warningly, her hand coming out to rest on his arm, "don't freak out. This isn't what you think, okay? Don't freak out," she begged again.

While Hank stared, cold with shock, a little boy stumbled to the front of the hall, rubbing his sleepy, tear-filled eyes. Two little blonde girls followed, one of them pausing to cling to Dawn's leg, staring, wide-eyed, at the newcomer in the hall. A redhead brought up the rear. All four children were crying, and the three that weren't clinging to Dawn's leg were scooting down the stairs on their butts, stretching their arms toward Buffy and the man everyone seemed to refer to as 'Giles'.

With simultaneous, weary sighs, Buffy and Giles moved forward. Buffy scooped the little boy and the remaining blonde girl into her arms, crooning softly and making comforting sounds. Giles picked up the redhead, smoothing her long hair with one big hand, and murmuring softly into her ear. For the moment, both his daughter and her…her _lover_, Hank thought with disgust, seemed content to ignore him entirely, focusing all their attention on the children.

Movement at the top of the stairs caught his eye, and he watched as Dawn scooped up the fourth toddler and made her way downstairs. She didn't look particularly happy with him, Hank noticed.

"Happy now?" she demanded in a whisper as she passed. "They were _sleeping!_" She hesitated, then added, "Oh, and, uh…hi, Dad."

In spite of himself, Hank felt the urge to apologize. He tamped it down. What was he apologizing for? Buffy had _kids_? _Four_ of them? With her _librarian?_

He couldn't figure out what made him the angriest.

Buffy saw his face, shaking her head firmly at him. "Dad, I'm warning you. Don't say something you're going to regret. You have no idea what's going on, here, so just…watch it."

He stiffened. "Then somebody better _explain_ what's going on here!" he retorted hotly.

With a hiss, his eldest daughter shushed him. "You're upsetting them!" she whispered harshly. "Now. Just sit down, and wait here. Or better yet, go. We'll see you tomorrow, and we can explain everything, I swear—"

"If you think I'm leaving this house before I know what's going on," Hank began, but Buffy cut him off, rolling her eyes.

Buffy looked tired. "Dad, I'm begging you. Tomorrow, okay? We're all _really_ tired—in case you haven't noticed, we are taking care of four children. I need to sleep. Just…this can all be explained. All right?"

Against his better judgment, Hank sighed and capitulated. They _did_ look tired. "I'll be back in the morning," he conceded, walking to the door. "We'll talk over breakfast."

"Lunch," Buffy contradicted. "Mornings are crazy around here."

With a last nod, Hank left. His mind was racing.

Just what the hell had been going on since he'd been gone?

* * *

The children were in bed. Giles finished changing his clothes, sighing. It had been a long day.

He stepped into the bedroom he was sharing with Buffy—he _still_ hadn't gotten used to those words—and smiled at the sight of her sleeping form. The poor girl; she was bearing the brunt of all this.

He slipped into bed as carefully as possible, trying not to wake her. She stirred, anyway, her eyes fluttering open in the darkness. She gave him a sweet, sleepy smile. His heart melted.

"Giles?" she whispered in the darkness.

"Yes?"

There was a long pause, and then she murmured, "What would you do if I kissed you?"

He froze. His heart stopped, then began beating loudly in his ears. He couldn't have heard that correctly. "P-pardon?"

"If I kissed you," she repeated, her voice heavy with sleep. "What would you do?"

He turned to stare at her in the darkness, searching her face for signs that she was mocking him. Finding none, he drew a deep breath—and took the plunge.

"I imagine," he managed, his voice hoarse, "th-that I would kiss you back."

Silence. To Giles, it felt eternal.

Eventually, she shifted, curling up to lay against him and burrowing her head against his chest.

"Good," she replied, so softly he could barely hear her. With a contented sigh, she fell asleep.

He was shaking, he realized. The moment played again and again in his mind.

_If I kissed you…what would you do?_

Gazing at his sleeping Slayer, Giles allowed a smile to creep across his face. She wanted to kiss him. He had to fight to suppress a joyful, triumphant laugh.

She wanted to kiss him!

* * *

Morning dawned bright and sunny, and Buffy cringed, not wanting to open her eyes. The bed was so warm, and Giles was holding her, and…if she could just stay in this moment forever, life would be perfect. Waking up meant taking care of four tiny Scoobies. Waking up meant facing her father's untimely visit, and the endless explanations they would have to give…. Waking up meant badness.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Now that she'd gone and thought about it, the badness was creeping in, whether she wanted it to or not.

Or maybe not.

Her breath hitched. Giles was already awake, staring at her with an expression she couldn't read. He wasn't tracing any sexy little circles, but he hadn't moved from their now-familiar entwined position, either.

"Good morning," he greeted softly, his voice sounding strange. Husky. Gritty. Cautious.

She smiled at him, wondering what was going on. "Good morning."

He gazed at her for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was carefully neutral. "Xander and Tara don't appear to have made an appearance last night," he observed, studying her closely.

What was he—_oh._

Realization hit her like a punch in the stomach, and her breath hitched in her throat.

_They were alone. _

Suddenly, their tangled position took on almost unbearably exciting new implications. Her heart raced. He didn't move, she thought again, and now the thought was bigger, more meaningful than it had been before. He didn't _move_.

(_I imagine I would kiss you back.) _He wanted to kiss her—he wanted _her._ The admission was there, in his hand on her hip, in the way his legs wound around her own. _This was Giles. And he wanted this._ It was the single, most powerfully erotic thought she'd ever had.

She was so nervous, she couldn't breathe. It was time.

She didn't bother with flirty banter, or coy teasing. She simply dropped her gaze deliberately to that soft, full lower lip that had always fascinated her so much, and leaned forward.

He was passive, at first, not responding—not even breathing. As though he were afraid to believe this was real, he held very still while she learned the contours of his mouth, the taste of his breath. His lips were warm, and soft, and if he didn't touch her, she was going to go insane. She pulled away slowly, hesitantly.

A shaky breath hissed between his lips, and his eyes were glazed with heat. His own gaze dropped to her mouth, and she suddenly found she needed air. She sucked in a breath, waiting, and the moment seemed to go on forever, and she was going to die, and—

And he was kissing her. The world fell apart.

A houseful of people could walk in at any moment. Dawn could be scarred for life.

Buffy didn't care. Soft, curious experimentation was giving way to a hot, thorough exploration that was stealing her ability to breathe, to think. She didn't care about that, either.

All she cared about was his mouth. _Oh, god, his mouth._ She couldn't believe this was _Giles_—that he could kiss this way, that he could kiss _her_ this way. But—_oh, god_—he could kiss.

Somewhere, in the recesses of her mind, she had expected kissing Giles to be…soft. Slow. Sweet—almost painfully so.

She'd been wrong.

His mouth was hot, demanding, slanting over hers until she opened for him. His tongue swept boldly into her mouth, his fingers tightening against her hip, and he tugged her body closer to his until she came flush against him. Showing her, with his mouth—with his body—how he wanted her.

A giddy, feminine triumph washed over her at the thought, even as heat pooled low in her belly. She slid her hand up the heated skin of his chest, pausing to learn the texture of soft, crisp curls beneath her fingers. She shivered at the sound of his low groan.

His hand flattened against her back, dragging her even closer. Without warning, he rolled them until she was beneath him, grinding his hips against hers. It was her turn to moan. She gazed up at him, stunned. His eyes were bright and hot, staring into hers. His hands tangled in her hair, and he ravished her mouth like a starving man. She was lost—melting and burning and dying, and—

"Tisses!"

The childish voice broke into the moment with all the finesse of a charging bull. Buffy and Giles sprang apart, gazing in horror at the sight of little Willow, who had somehow managed to get into the room and seat herself on the foot of the bed. She clapped her little hands. "Tisses!" she cried again, and clambered up the bed with more eagerness than grace.

Without warning, the little girl planted one chubby hand firmly on each of Giles's cheeks and planted a smacking kiss squarely on his mouth. The expression on his face was…priceless. He couldn't have been more surprised if the Hellmouth had opened up right there in the bedroom.

Willow didn't seem to notice his astonishment. Obviously intent on including herself in the affection, she turned to Buffy, bestowing a sweet childish kiss directly on her lips. Buffy's aggravation at her aborted smoochies melted instantly, right along with her heart. She had to try very hard not to crush Willow's tiny body in the hug she swept the little girl into.

Giles, too, seemed to be experiencing some squishy feelings. Buffy's own eyes stung when she saw the telltale glitter in his, and she wondered fleetingly if it were the first time a child had ever kissed the usually-taciturn man. She gave him a shaky smile, regretfully climbing from the bed, Willow in her arms.

There was a slightly awkward silence. Buffy refused to allow that—no way was he going to get away with backing out of this one. He'd been kissing her, and he'd enjoyed it. She had proof.

At the thought, her body flushed, and she made sure he saw her expression. "Next time, we'll lock the door," she murmured.

He blushed deeply, and she laughed. Turning to the door, she glanced back, giving him a saucy wink, and finally headed off down the hall with a little sigh.

Breakfast for seven, coming up.


	7. That MorningAfter Feeling

Disclaimers found in Chapter One

Chapter 7

That Morning After Feeling

Something had happened, Dawn could tell. Buffy and Giles were acting weird—even weirder than they normally did, she amended. She was just glad it was Saturday, so she could stay home for a front-row seat.

The kids were feeling crazier than usual today, and everyone was tense, what with their Dad coming back over for lunch…but that didn't explain the funky vibes that were coming off the two of them in waves.

At breakfast, Buffy had seemed to be walking on air. Dawn couldn't remember the last time she'd seen her sister so happy—even when Xander had dumped the…er, freshly-used potty chair all over the bathroom floor, it hadn't seemed to spoil Buffy's mood. Dawn grimaced. It had, however, gone a long way towards spoiling hers.

But for some reason, as the morning wore on, Buffy seemed to get more and more frustrated. Dawn was pretty sure this had something to do with the fact that Giles couldn't seem to look her sister in the eye. He was blushing and stammering more than Dawn had heard him do since his first year in Sunnydale. Twice, when he thought no one was looking, Dawn had caught him smiling in a way that made her think she had a pretty good idea what was going on.

But, boy, if Giles knew what was good for him, he'd say something reassuring to Buffy pretty fast—her sister was getting crankier with every embarrassed glance her Watcher sent her way.

Dawn briefly considered sharing this insight with Giles, but that would probably just mortify him even more, she rationalized. If he and Buffy had actually had sex—which was what Dawn was betting on—then he was not likely to want to discuss it with Buffy's little sister, now was he?

Screw that, she admitted wryly. The truth was, this was too much fun to watch.

The knock at the door startled them all, and Buffy glanced up at the clock with a gasp. Dawn, too, was shocked—was it really eleven o'clock already? None of them had even showered….

_Oh, no_!

Dawn chewed on her lip to keep from laughing, and tried to decide whether or not it would be a good idea to point out that neither Giles nor Buffy had changed out of their nightclothes. Giles had thrown on a T-shirt, but…well; it was obvious, even to the most casual observer, that Buffy's shirt went with _his_ pants. If they answered the door like that, and it did turn out to be Hank, the pair of them were going to end up pretty damn embarrassed.

An excellent reason not to warn them, she decided, enjoying herself immensely. Because, when these two got flustered? That was comedy.

Buffy thrust a very naked Xander into Giles's surprised arms, and ran for the door. Dawn wished she had some popcorn. This was gonna be good.

* * *

Hank drew a deep breath as he heard the footsteps approaching the door. He'd been doing a lot of thinking, and he'd reached a few decisions.

He'd screwed up last night. Royally. He'd had no right to barge into Buffy's life and start making judgments that way—he'd given up that right long ago, although it was hard to admit, even to himself. Okay, so he didn't particularly want his daughter shacking up with some old man. But he did want her to be happy. And here she was with a family of her own—he should be finding a way to be happy about that. He'd come back here wanting to repair his relationship with his daughters. He had a feeling blowing up at Buffy's boyfriend wasn't the ideal way to do that.

So…he'd start over. He'd apologize, even if he had to choke on the words to do it, and he'd make this work. He _would_.

Buffy opened the door, looking frazzled. If it hadn't been for the fact that she appeared to be wearing half of someone's breakfast—were those scrambled eggs sticking out of the pocket of her pajamas?—he would have guessed that she had just tumbled out of bed. Hank flinched slightly at the thought. Better not to go there.

In the background, the three little girls were sitting, enthralled, in front of a movie on the TV. Giles was attempting to wrestle the little boy—Hank realized he didn't even know the children's names—into a pull-up diaper. He was…

Oh, hell. He was wearing the bottom half of Buffy's pajamas.

Hank cringed. This was going to be harder than he'd thought.

"Dad," Buffy said breathlessly. "I'm so sorry—it's been a crazed morning. Come on in, just let us get settled."

He stepped through the door, trying very hard not to think about the details of the pajama-sharing. Maybe he should come back later.

Wait, he told himself firmly. He'd already come back later. Later was now, and if he didn't do this now, he'd never do it at all.

With that thought in mind, he turned to face the man in the living room. He'd better get this over with.

"I owe you an apology," he said frankly. "I was out of line last night. This meeting is very hard for me," he confessed. "I kept picturing my daughters as this tiny, broken little family, rattling around in this big house all alone. I hated that thought—and I hated that it was my fault..." He turned briefly to Buffy. "I'm so sorry," he said plainly. "I should have been here." He turned to Dawn, who was watching him closely.

Turning back to Giles, he drew a breath. "I can't say I'm happy about Buffy being with you," honesty compelled him to admit. "I would have liked for her to be with someone…a little closer to her own age. And I certainly would have liked for her to have more time before—well, a family."

"Dad," Buffy interrupted, but Hank held up a hand to quiet her, never taking his eyes off the startled gaze of the man in front of him.

"No, Buffy. If I don't say this now, I'll never say it." He squared his shoulders, offering Giles a nod. "It may take me some time to get used to this," he went on, forcing the words past his throat. "But I want you to know that I will get used to it. The most important thing to me is that Buffy has found someone to love. It's very obvious my girls have a loving family here. As long as you make them happy, I will get used to anything."

There was a long, tense silence. The librarian looked as if Hank had punched him squarely in the solar plexus. Behind him, Buffy was staring, open-mouthed, at her father.

It was Dawn who broke the silence, watching from the doorway to the kitchen. Without warning, she burst out laughing. And kept laughing. For a long, long time.

Hank's jaw dropped. Of all the reactions he'd expected, it hadn't been this. He turned to Buffy and Giles, hoping they would have an explanation for this, but to his surprise, Buffy seemed to be fighting a smile of her own. Even the librarian's eyes were twinkling, although he looked more embarrassed than anything.

Mildly irritated, Hank drew himself up. "Did I say something funny?" he demanded, more than a little wounded that his heartfelt speech was clearly the cause of the hilarity.

Buffy cleared her throat, her lips twitching. "Um, no, Dad. It's just…listen, that was—that was maybe the nicest thing anyone's ever said. And we appreciate it, we do,…it's just—"

She glanced helplessly at the older man, who stepped in smoothly.

"I believe that what Buffy is trying to say," he offered, scooping the freshly-diapered little boy up into his arms, "is that these are not our children."

Hank blinked. "N-not yours?" he asked, relief flooding over him. "Oh, thank god. Then what—"

"We are…er, babysitting," Giles replied, glancing at Buffy as if for confirmation. "For—ahem—well, for some friends of ours."

This set both Buffy and Dawn off into gales of renewed laughter—even the librarian was clearly trying to suppress a grin—but Hank was too caught up in his relief to care what joke he'd missed. They weren't Buffy's children. Slowly, Hank's world was starting to right itself.

"And…you and Buffy?" He probably didn't want to know, not really, but he couldn't have stopped the question from popping out of his mouth to save his life.

In the doorway, Dawn straightened up, listening avidly.

Giles cleared his throat again, looking a little helpless. "W-we are..." He seemed to be looking for something to say. "We're just…very good friends," he finally offered weakly.

Well. That sounded like bullshit to Hank—

His eye fell on Buffy, standing behind the Englishman, and his breath caught in his throat. A fleeting expression flashed across her features—something stunned and shattered, and bewildered all at once. It was gone almost before he saw it, but even once it passed, her eyes were dark and wounded.

So. It was like that, was it?

Buffy loved the librarian. Apparently, the feeling wasn't mutual—Hank fought the sudden urge to bury his fist in this man's face. He gave himself a mental shake. Last night, he'd wanted to hit this man because he was sleeping with his daughter. Now, he wanted to hit him because he wasn't. What the hell was wrong with him?

Wait a minute—hadn't Dawn said…? She had—she'd said "their bed". And Buffy was wearing this guy's pajamas, so…had the man slept with his daughter, only to reject her?

Hank drew a breath. He was over-reacting, big-time. He didn't know a single thing about the situation, and he needed to remember that. Whatever was going on, here, it was between the two of them. Buffy wasn't Daddy's little girl anymore.

But maybe…maybe she needed a friend?

"Can I take you out to lunch?" he asked Buffy abruptly. "You and Dawn, both," he added. Whatever was going on, here, Dawn seemed to be aware of it—and he'd like to see both of his daughters, if he could. He was going to have to catch a plane later tonight, and this might be his last chance. At least for another month or so.

Buffy nodded slowly, then changed her mind and shook her head. "I can't—the kids," she explained. "You should take Dawn, though—"

Giles put his hand on Buffy's arm, lightly. "You should go," he said softly. "I can take care of things, here."

Dawn snorted at that, and even Buffy cracked a smile. "Uh…Giles," she said quietly, shaking her head, "I don't think that's a very good idea—they're a handful, and—"

"You don't think I can do it!" the librarian accused, a slightly playful expression entering his eyes.

Buffy's face lightened considerably at the sight, and she smiled so brightly it was almost blinding. "They'd eat you alive," she said plainly, relief etched on every feature.

Hank watched the exchange with interest. Maybe they'd only had a fight, he speculated. And now they were teasing, and making up—he sighed. He was giving up—he was never going to understand what was going on here, unless someone decided to tell him.

Giles huffed. "What was it you said?" he asked Buffy lightly. ""I think I can handle eight hours alone with a few small children?""

Buffy gaped at him, incredulous. "But I was _wrong_!" she pointed out.

"I'll only have to watch them for, what? An hour?" Giles touched Buffy's arm again, lightly. "Go—I'll be fine. Won't I, Dawn?"

He turned to the younger girl, obviously expecting her support, only to find her grinning widely at him. "Not a chance," she told him brightly. "Come on, Buff. Let's get dressed."

"We can't leave him here alone with them," Buffy objected. "We only have so much insurance on the house—" She broke off, laughing, when he smacked her lightly on the arm.

"You will go," the older man told her firmly. "And when you return, and see how well I have managed, I will expect a full apology. And perhaps…a cookie."

Buffy giggled at what was obviously an inside joke. "I'll do better than a cookie," she promised. "When we get back, if you have lasted an hour—_one_ hour—with those little beasts, and no one is dead, or seriously injured, I won't make you eat my cooking the rest of the time you're here."

"A powerful incentive, to be sure," the Englishman muttered, and it was his turn for a smack on the arm. He smiled. "Now, go."

* * *

Buffy stared aimlessly out the window, as her father drove them home. Lunch had been surprisingly nice. Her father had clearly been prodding for information about herself and Giles several times, but Buffy had blown him off. For some reason, Giles hadn't been ready to tell her father about them, yet, and that was fine with her.

She'd been so scared. First, he'd barely been able to look at her all morning, and then to hear him say so bluntly that they were 'just good friends'…she hadn't known what to think. She had been terrified…was he having second thoughts?

It wasn't until he'd been so light and flirty that she'd realized she was over-reacting. Of course, Giles just didn't want to make any big announcements yet. After all, they hadn't even had a chance to talk to each other yet this morning. Every time she'd hoped to get him alone, to talk about this morning, some child-related distraction had gotten in the way. Buffy couldn't wait for the Scoobies to return to full size.

Anyway, it didn't matter. Giles hadn't been rejecting her, only ditching questions from a nosy father. Not that Buffy could blame him. Her relief was so intense that she'd barely paid attention through lunch. She couldn't stop thinking about the morning…about that kiss.

Remembering it now, she sighed happily. It was incredible—_he_ was incredible—and for the first time, she knew without a doubt, something in her screwed-up life was finally going to be perfect.

Because Giles was perfect.

And, she thought tenderly, remembering his 'bedtime story', she couldn't settle for less than the best.

A movement in the bushes outside the car window caught her eye. "Slow down!" she hissed at her father, who obeyed without thinking.

A blonde boy, dressed all in black, was creeping slowly through the bushes toward a house not far from her own. While she watched in bemusement, he turned his head, looking every which way, before opening an old-fashioned storm-cellar door.

Who ever heard of storm cellars in California, anyway?

She gasped when the guy looked in their direction. That was—what's-his-name—Trevor's brother! One of the Nerd Herd! She nudged Dawn, pointing, and watched the light click on. This was the hideout!

Clearly, Trevor's brother wasn't very good at being Stealth Guy. He looked right at the rental car, but, unable to see in through the tinted windows, it had apparently not occurred to him to care. He slipped down into the storm cellar, closing the door behind him, and Buffy shook her head. Idiot. She memorized the house number, wishing she could go down there and haul them out by their hair. Not in front of Dad, she told herself firmly. This would all be over soon enough.

She almost laughed, she was so happy, until she noticed her father looking at her oddly. "Sorry," she said lamely. "Thought I saw someone I knew."

He didn't look like he believed her, but with a weary expression, he nodded and kept driving. Her poor father. He'd been handed a lot of flimsy excuses over the years. It was a shame he seemed to be finally catching on that they were so flimsy. That was going to make things harder.

Oh, well. He was leaving tonight. She was bummed to see him go—more so than she would have expected, actually—but it would certainly make her life easier.

She kissed him lightly on the cheek, promising to call him in a week, and she and Dawn tumbled eagerly from the car. She needed to go inside and let Giles know what she'd found. The sooner they returned their friends to normal, the sooner she and Giles could commence with the repeat performance of this morning's smooch-fest. And that was simply not something she was willing to wait for.

They burst through the door, only to stop dead in their tracks.

"Oh, my god," murmured Dawn, staring around her with fascinated dismay.

The living room was a shambles. The package of Pull-Ups had been raided, and diapers littered the room. The hall table had been knocked over. The basket of newspapers in the corner had been…well, it looked like they'd been shredded. Buffy went on Full Demon Alert.

"Stay back," she whispered to Dawn, cold fear settling in her stomach.

A sound from the kitchen made her freeze. Moving as quickly and silently as she could, she headed for the doorway, casting about for a weapon as she went.

"Xander, no!"

The harried British voice washed over her in a rush of relief. Amusement came hot on its heels. So, the Watcher hadn't fared so well after all, had he? If the living room was anything to go by, he may actually require hospitalization. Well, she'd warned him.

She rounded the corner into the kitchen and stopped dead. A half a step behind her, Dawn started cracking up. Buffy did a better job of fighting it, but not for long.

Giles had clearly been trying to feed the children lunch. All four children were wearing more than they were eating, but none more so than Xander, who was actually wearing his bowl of Spaghetti-O's on his head like a hat. Sauce and noodles were sliding down his cheeks and neck—and the little terror was enjoying every moment of it. A bright smile on his face, he was cheerfully beating the table-top like a drum with a pair of spoons.

One of the spoons was, apparently, Anya's—and she wasn't taking it well. Giles—wearing a healthy serving of Spaghetti-O's, himself—was holding her, presumably to keep her from killing Xander, and the little girl was writhing in his arms, snatching at the spoon every time Xander had it on the up-swing. When she failed to grab it, she'd take a swing at the boy himself. Despite her confinement, some of them were coming close to connecting.

Tara was watching the scene wide-eyed, eating her food mechanically and often, in her distraction, missing her mouth entirely. In the midst of all this chaos sat Willow, the lone, angelic child, calmly eating her meal and very carefully paying no attention to the disruption.

Which, Buffy had now been around them long enough to know, meant that somehow—she didn't know how—the little witch had probably instigated the whole thing. Willow's trademark Innocent-Orphan-Eyes had been revealed for the sham they were; the tiny redhead, at three years old, was already using them well and wisely. She'd start trouble, and then stand back and let the damage fly, gazing innocently at the adults as if to say, '_What? I'm just sitting here, don't mind me._'

The laughter welled up until Buffy couldn't fight it anymore, and she laughed until she had to lean against the wall for support.

Giles looked up from the altercation, genuine panic written all over his face. "You have to help me!' he cried, barely avoiding getting one of Anya's swinging fists directly in the eye. "I can't—they're too…you have to help!"

It took a few minutes to catch her breath, but when she did, she stood to help, still giggling. "Ohhh…Giles." She wiped her eyes, walking over to the table. "You are so…stupid."

His offended look only made her laugh harder.

"Why—_why­—_would you try to feed them without help?" she managed.

"Well, _you_ did it," he retorted huffily, sounding so much like a three-year-old, himself, that Buffy snorted out loud, startling Xander mid-drum-beat. Shaking her head, Buffy managed to get herself under control. She scooped up Xander, carrying him—bowl and all—to the kitchen sink.

"Did it ever occur to you," she asked mildly, pulling out a towel, "that I may have had some babysitting experience?" She was grinning so hard her face hurt. "I've never taken care of four of them at once, but I have had at least some experience with babies before, Giles. And even so, you saw how well my days went." She carefully removed the bowl, holding Xander's head over the sink. Using the towel to wipe away the worst of the mess, she gave her Watcher a fond glance over her shoulder. "Have you ever taken care of even _one_ child by yourself?"

His dark glower was answer enough. She chuckled again, shaking her head. "For future reference," she told him, undressing the little boy until only his diaper remained, and dumping the sauce-covered clothes in the sink, "don't try anything ambitious. It'll only get you in trouble."

He glared, stomping into the kitchen and holding Anya in his outstretched arms, clearly waiting for Buffy to take the little girl and clean her up.

Glancing around for Dawn, Buffy discovered that her traitorous sister had deserted the scene. With nothing for it, she handed Xander to her Watcher, smirking as she took Anya from him. "You'll need to go run a bath," she advised him. "I can take care of things down here."

Clearly happy to be going anywhere that was "else," Giles nodded and made for the stairs, Xander dangling under his arm like a sack of potatoes. The little boy was giggling madly.

Buffy smiled as she turned back to the sink. She couldn't wait to have kids with Giles. He was so adorably inept. She flipped on the faucet, preparing to wipe away the worst of Anya's mess.

Life on the Hellmouth, she mused, still grinning. It was never boring.


	8. All Grown Up

Disclaimers found in Chapter One

Chapter Eight

All Grown Up

Giles sighed, allowing the silence to wash over him. Dawn had gotten the kids down for a nap—blessed things, naps. He only wished Buffy were here. They needed to talk about this morning.

A rush of heat hit him as he remembered it—the surprising softness of her trim, muscular form, the look of undiluted desire in her gaze…the feel of her body beneath his. He nearly groaned aloud.

He'd been a bumbling idiot all morning, hardly able to focus enough to put one foot in front of the other. And Dawn kept staring at him—he hadn't been able to look Buffy in the face, for fear Dawn would read the whole thing on his. He'd been dreaming of this for so long, and now—he could barely believe this was happening.

_Slow down_, he advised himself firmly. He was getting ahead of himself. After all, this was Buffy; she was—and probably would always be—going through something so traumatic, so horrifying, that it could hardly even be imagined. To be pulled from heaven…he closed his eyes. He could imagine so easily what the world must look like to her, now; harsh and cold, and lonely-full of violence and anger and pain.

There was no denying that her recovery, since he'd last seen her, was nothing short of phenomenal. She was making a genuine effort to connect with life again—and she was succeeding, which was more than anyone had a right to truly expect of her.

And now…this. She felt something for him—he'd seen it, he'd felt it. It may even be love. But for how long? Forever was a lot to ask of someone who was only now learning to live again, in the most literal possible sense. To pin his hopes and dreams on the actions of only a few days—well, it would be imprudent, at best. Right now, Buffy needed something—something warm, and safe, and soft-to counteract the daily horrors of a world filled with death and loss. She'd found that, in him.

He was humbled by the thought.

But he needed to be careful. Things were happening very fast, and he was already in over his head. She needed him right now—but what about tomorrow?

_What about tomorrow? Who cares?_ he asked himself honestly. If she needed him—if loving him could help her to find a reason to get up every morning, then who was he to deny her? He'd be hers for as long as she'd have him; there had never really been a question.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, holding back a wry chuckle. Quite the maudlin fellow, wasn't he? Noble, even—it was all rubbish. He was a selfish prig and he knew it; his dreams were being handed to him on a platter, and just this once, he was going to grasp them with both hands and hold on for the ride. However long he had her, it would be worth it for the rest of his life.

The phone rang, interrupting his musings, and he leapt to his feet, snatching the phone. Whoever the bloody hell this was, if they'd woken the children up, he was going to—

"Mr. Giles." The smooth, cultured voice made his stomach sink.

"Hello, Quentin," he replied grimly. He was never going to like this man, that was all there was to it.

A long pause, and then the other Watcher spoke again, his tone carefully neutral. "I'm surprised to find you still in Sunnydale," he remarked. "We received Buffy's call some time ago—we were expecting you back much sooner than this, to be frank."

Giles grimaced. "Actually, we need to talk about that," he said. "There have been—well, perhaps it would be better to discuss this, face-to-face." That way, the prat couldn't go above his head and try to make trouble for him. Giles smiled to himself. Maybe he'd even take Buffy along—she'd had the Council under her thumb pretty much since the Glory incident.

Quentin sighed. "Am I to assume you're not returning?" he asked, his voice holding a wealth of disgust. "Really, Rupert, it's astonishing how you let that girl manipulate you."

"Watch your step, Quentin," Giles advised, his tone dangerously soft. "You're treading on rather thin ice."

The other Watcher sighed. "When will you be back for this…meeting?" he inquired.

"As soon as possible." Giles smiled. Now that he'd made the decision to stay, it felt as if a weight had rolled off his shoulders. "I've been unable to return as of yet because of a…situation, here in town. Buffy has found those responsible, and has gone to get them, now. The situation should be cleared up this afternoon, actually."

"Shall I make your flight arrangements for tomorrow morning, then?"

Giles nodded, before remembering Quentin couldn't see him. "Tomorrow morning will be fine," he agreed. "Perhaps around seven o'clock. I'd like to be back in England by early evening." The sooner he met with the Council, the sooner he could come back home.

Home. For the first time in a long time, the word felt like it had meaning. He smiled to himself.

"Fine." Quentin's voice was clipped. "We'll take care of it. We shall see you tomorrow, Rupert."

He disconnected, leaving Giles to stare at the phone, breathing a sigh of relief. He was almost giddy. He was coming home.

To be with Buffy.

* * *

Buffy was dreaming of wedding dresses. Behind her, the Trio was grumbling and whispering heatedly, but she wasn't bothering to listen. She gave another sharp tug on the rope that bound the idiots together, and felt with satisfaction the way they stumbled. She may not be able to stake them, she mused, but she could have some fun.

Now…should she wear something white and flowing and traditional? She imagined that would be Giles's choice—he was a very traditional guy. Or should she wear something short and sassy and clinging, just to see his face? She almost giggled at the thought. That idea had merit.

She supposed she shouldn't be so sure that they were headed for the altar, but, somehow she just knew—this was forever. She was giddy at the thought alone. Giles loved her, and this was forever!

She couldn't even say how she was so sure, except to say simply that it was Giles. He would never start something with her—never dream of "taking liberties", as he would say—unless it was going to be a forever thing. It was just the way the guy was made.

She loved that about him. She loved everything about him.

The gang was on its way to being all grown up again, courtesy of the bulky gun she had slung over her shoulder as they left the "Hideout". Giles was home to stay. Buffy was alive, and Giles loved her, and for now, the world was a bright and happy place.

"—soon as possible," Giles was saying to someone on the phone. He was so caught up in his conversation, he didn't even hear her enter, even with the Nerd Herd in tow. There was a brief pause, and then, "Tomorrow morning will be fine. Perhaps around seven o'clock. I'd like to be back in England by early evening."

Buffy's body went cold with shock. He was leaving?

He was _leaving_?

Giles stared at the phone for a moment, then smiled to himself as he replaced it on the hook. He looked…happy. Buffy felt sick.

"Oh," her Watcher remarked, looking up at her. He smiled. "You found them." There was approval in his voice, as well as eagerness.

Eagerness to get this over with? To get out of Sunnydale—out of her life?

Unable to speak, she simply handed him the rope that held the Trio in check, and the gun that she'd pilfered. It took all of her effort to hold a steady expression on her face as she made her way blindly up the stairs.

* * *

Giles watched her go, confusion washing over him. What was wrong with her?

"Hey—let us out of here!" one of the three boys was demanding, struggling against the rope. "It pinches!" he added plaintively.

His attention snapping back to the job at hand, Giles took in the group that had caused all the trouble. He took a step forward, and instantly, two of the three flinched away from his glowering stare. Only the third—a tall, dark-haired boy—met his gaze, chin lifted, hate in his eyes. Giles raised an eyebrow.

Well. This looked like the "unpleasant youth" to him.

Figuring that the dark-haired boy was probably the leader, Giles addressed his words directly to him. "Do you know what you've done?" he asked, his voice soft. Dangerous. Getting no reply, he took another step closer, until he towered over the three lads. "Do you?" he demanded again.

The leader—he thought Buffy might have called him "Warren"—spoke. "The question is, why should we care?" he spat resentfully.

Rather than answer, Giles let his gaze fall deliberately to the rope that bound them together, and then to the gun in his hands. "Perhaps you would care if it were _you_ on the other end of this," he remarked mildly.

Jonathan cringed. "No, don't!"

Ah. A weak link. Giles turned his attention to the shortest member of the Trio.

"And why not?" he asked calmly, pointing the gun in their general direction.

Blatant fear etched itself across the faces of all three, although Warren still looked rebellious. "You don't know what it does!" Jonathan cried, distressed.

"Don't we?" Giles widened his eyes. "Terribly funny, that—I was under the impression that I'd spent the last several days face-to-face with _exactly_ what this thing 'does'." He turned his attention back to Warren. "What I don't understand is how—or why."

Warren refused to speak, but the other two were not so brave. "It's a Deceleration Beam," the blonde one blurted, his words coming in a rush. "It alters the space-time continuum within the specified frame of a person's body. We didn't mean to hit your friends." He paused. "We meant to hit the Slayer."

Giles took another threatening step, this one bringing him very close to the boys. "And, for some reason, you think that is going to improve my opinion of you?" he asked coldly. He turned to look at Jonathan—the one member of this little band that honestly bewildered him. "Why, Jonathan?" he asked, quietly. "How many times did she save your life? What could you possibly gain from hurting her?"

Jonathan flinched. "We're…supervillains," he muttered lamely. "It's what we're supposed to do—kill the Slayer."

Suddenly Giles understood, and a wave of fury crashed over him. "It was meant to regress her," he guessed. "Until she didn't exist at all. My God, do you know what you could have _done_?" These were dangerous games, being played by stupid boys. It made him so angry, he could barely breathe. He held up the gun. "How do I make this work? How do I reverse the effects?"

It was the blonde one who replied. "You can't. Warren has to do it—he's the only one who can reverse the settings." When Giles raised an eyebrow, the boy recoiled. "I'm not lying!" he insisted. "If you mess with it, you could hurt them even more!"

"Explain," Giles told him coldly. "Now."

The blonde shrank from his glare. "It's simple," he explained. "The space-time continuum is…picture it like a wheel. You know how when people say 'if time moved any slower it'd be going backwards'? Well, you can do that. Or, at least, theoretically. Everybody has their own little wheel, and they're all turning in the same direction, at the same time, and that's why people age. Imagine if you could stop the wheel, just for one person. Like what happens to a vampire. They just don't get any older. Everyone around them keeps going, but they just stay the same." He shrugged as well as he could, while bound by the ropes. "That's what the Orb does."

Seeing Giles's confusion, Jonathan tried to elaborate. "This Orb can stop the wheel…or even turn it the other way," he offered. "Alters a single person's space-time continuum until they start to age backwards. Eventually, a person couldn't get any younger, so theoretically, they'd stop existing." He cringed when Giles's eyes grew even colder. "Anyway," he continued lamely, "it only works while the beam is on—once it stops, the…the wheel starts turning in the right direction, again, I guess."

"How do I fix it?" Giles growled, his patience fast reaching an end.

"Well, you don't. The only one who knows how to work this thing is Warren—if you tried to do it, you might age them too far by accident, and they could die anyway."

Giles turned to the dark-haired boy, rage making him physically shake. "You're going to fix this," he said coldly.

"Make me." Warren lifted his chin rebelliously, daring Giles with his eyes.

Without pausing, Giles decked him in the face. Hard.

The boy went down, dragging the other two with him, thanks to their bindings. It looked like Giles may have broken his nose.

Warren sniffed, trying to reach his face with one of his bound hands, but couldn't reach. "You still can't make me," he managed, his voice a bit more nasal, but no less stubborn.

"I can."

The voice descending the stairs made them all look up. Warren paled.

* * *

Buffy moved slowly, trying not to reveal her inner turmoil.

She'd locked herself in the bathroom, staring in the mirror at her own face, the image distorted by tears. Her initial reaction had been anger—rage, really. How could Giles do this to her? Why? Why would he offer her so much, then take it all away?

It had taken her several minutes to even begin to calm down. When she had, she'd been left with an aching, empty void inside that felt like losing heaven all over again. She'd drawn several deep breaths, trying to get enough control to figure this out. There had to be a reason Giles would do this to her. She just needed to figure out what that reason was.

(You were supposed to be finished with this, too. When I died.) She heard her own words in her head, and her heart cracked. She had meant the words, when she said them, but now, selfishly, she didn't _want_ him to be finished. She wanted him here. Standing beside her. Fighting beside her.

Sleeping beside her.

She was a bitch.

(I shouldn't be trying to take away what you've earned. Your chance to be finished. That's no better than what Willow did to me.)

Her head throbbed—to say nothing of her heart. She ran some cool water, splashing it on her flushed, over-heated skin. He was leaving her. Again. And she didn't know why.

But that wasn't what really mattered, was it? What mattered now was how she handled it. A month ago she would have thrown a huge fit—hell, not much longer than a month ago, she _had_ thrown a huge fit. She could do that again—and this time, it might be enough to make him stay. She was no fool. If she played on his guilt for leading her on, he'd stay.

Was that really what she wanted?

Well, yes, but not like that. Not for those reasons.

She had closed her eyes, leaning against the counter. No matter what his feelings may be, hers remained the same. She loved him. She had offered him his freedom—it had been her choice. She'd known she could have made him come back. If not by appealing to him, then by going through the Council. Through force. She'd been sick at the thought of doing that to him.

After all his years with her—years of fighting, bleeding, concussions, torture, loss, and pain—she'd given him his chance to be done. It had been a gift of sorts; the only thing she could offer him to even try to make amends. He was…she swallowed thickly…he was accepting that gift, now.

Would she try to take it away?

No. No, she wouldn't go back down that road. She had pulled herself together, drying her face on a towel. She'd come too far to backslide, now. She owed it to everyone—to Dawn, to her friends, and especially to Giles—not to be that girl anymore.

Okay. So she'd let him go. No guilt. No tantrums. She'd smile if it killed her. It was the least she could do.

Now, as she made her way down the stairs, she watched Warren baiting her Watcher.

"You still can't make me," the creep had said, and Buffy had forced the first of those smiles. Showtime.

"I can," she replied lightly, taking a moment of pleasure in their pale faces, despite her breaking heart. She stepped off the last stair, bringing herself closer to the three boys huddled on the ground. "I can make you do anything I want to," she said easily. "I can make you scream if I want to."

Warren looked doubtful for the first time since she'd showed up in the Hideout. "You don't hurt humans," he said, but his voice sounded hesitant. Unsure.

Buffy looked at Giles, managing to feign surprise. God, this was hard. "Is that true?" she asked her Watcher, keeping her tone conversational. "I don't hurt humans?"

Giles gave her a smile, and in spite of herself, her pulse raced in response. "Well," he said slowly, pretending to consider her question. "You don't _kill_ humans…"

She nodded seriously. "Right," she agreed. "So then…as long as I don't kill them…"

Giles shrugged. "I don't see a problem."

"Good." Buffy took a step toward Warren, and that was all it took. The coward in him took over, and he tried to hold up his hands in surrender, forgetting they were bound.

"Okay!" he all but shouted, trying madly to scoot away from her. "I'll do it, I'll do it—bring me the gun."

Buffy shot a look at Giles, who nodded, handing her the gun and disappearing upstairs to get the kids. Buffy hauled the Trio to their feet with one easy movement.

She stepped very close, getting right in Warren's face. "If they get hurt," she said quietly, coldly, "I won't care if you're a human or not. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

He paled again, and nodded slowly. Buffy wandered over to the weapons chest in the corner, calmly removing a particularly wicked-looking rapier. She didn't think he'd _quite _gotten the point yet.

Moving slowly, she walked back to him, letting the tip of the rapier hover in the air, close to the boy's face.

He made a retching sound at the back of his throat as the rapier brushed very near his skin.

Buffy nodded, satisfied. _Now_, he got it.

* * *

Giles woke Dawn first. The teenager had collapsed on her bed, exhausted from a late night last night, and an early morning today. She resisted his attempts to rouse her.

"Go 'way," she muttered, burying her face beneath a pillow.

He understood the feeling. "Dawn," he said again, quietly. "Wake up. It's time—we're going to fix the others."

That got her attention. She sat up so fast she nearly hit his head with hers. "No more three-year-olds?" she asked, her voice almost pathetically eager.

He smiled. "No more three-year-olds," he agreed. "I need you to help me take them downstairs."

She was on her feet in an instant. "Well, why didn't you say so?"

In short order, the children were wide awake…and cranky. Apparently, it was not wise to interrupt a sleeping toddler. Gathering Xander and Willow into his arms, he waited for Dawn to scoop up the other two, and together they headed downstairs. The entire thing was almost over. He could barely believe it.

"Wait!" Buffy slapped her hand over Warren's, a moment before the boy pulled the trigger. All four Scoobies were seated on the rug in the center of the living room, and the big moment was finally at hand.

"Buffy?" Giles raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"

"No," she replied. Then, "Yes! I mean—Dawn, go get some blankets. Those clothes aren't going to grow with them, if last time was any indication, and the last thing we all need is…an embarrassing scene."

Dawn laughed, and Giles's eyes widened, a flush already staining his cheeks.

"What a very good point," he observed, sounding horrified by the near-miss. Despite her turbulent emotions, Buffy giggled.

The blankets were retrieved in short order, and wrapped around the squirming foursome on the floor. Buffy nodded to Warren, holding the rapier where he could see it. "Go ahead," she murmured quietly.

There was a low hum, a flash of light, and the sound of tearing cloth. The light was blinding—Buffy had to turn her face away. Moments later, the light stopped, and the room went silent. She held her breath as she turned to look.

"Wow," observed Xander, clutching his blanket tightly. "I'm…uh…naked."

Relief washed over Buffy, so strongly that she nearly went weak in the knees. She grabbed for the nearest Scooby—which happened to be Willow—and crushed her in a hug so tight, her friend gurgled slightly.

"Hey, Buff," the witch said, somewhat nervously. "Love you, too." She paused. "But not in a naked way, okay? Could we save this for when I have some clothes on?"

Buffy laughed, even as tears welled up in her eyes, and released the redhead. "Oh, my god, I'm so happy to see you guys!"

Anya was studying herself with some dismay. "Xander doesn't approve of public nudity," she announced firmly. "It's inappropriate. Where are my clothes?"

Buffy turned to the Trio, who were trying to sneak for the door in the confusion. Grabbing the gun from Warren's startled hand, she snapped it half. Then she punched him in the face, just for the hell of it. He went down like a felled tree.

"Get him out of here," she told the other two, turning away dismissively. Eventually, she'd have to figure out a way to stop them permanently, without actually killing them. For right now, however, she had other things on her mind.

One of those other things was stepping close to her, now. The Scoobies had disappeared upstairs, in search of clothes, and Dawn had followed, answering their incessant questions all the way.

Giles was smiling gently at her. She wanted to hate him for it—it was breaking her heart. She drew up her chin as he opened his mouth, not ready to hear his explanations just now.

"It looks like your work here is done," she announced, her voice bright and brittle. "If you need a ride to the airport, just let me know."

* * *

Giles froze. His work here was done?

He studied her face, noticing her flushed cheeks and overly-bright voice. What was going on, here?

"Buffy—" he started, but she cut him off.

"Don't, Giles. I really can't take this right now. Just—just let me know when you need that ride, okay?" She started to walk away, and Giles felt like he might throw up.

It was over already? She really wasn't even going to talk to him about it?

He withdrew, unable to look at her. Suddenly, he felt very cold.

"No need," he said numbly. "I'll get a cab."


	9. Home

Disclaimers found in Chapter One

Chapter Nine

_Home_

"I wish Giles would have stuck around long enough for us to spend some time with him." Willow lightly traced her fingers around the top of her glass, dejected. "I miss him."

Xander agreed. "You would have thought he'd at least pretend he wanted to see us," he complained, popping a cheesy chip into his mouth. "It doesn't seem like him just to…bail."

The Scoobies were seated around the dining room table. It was the first real chance they'd had to sit and talk without Buffy around—the Slayer had been listless and down since yesterday afternoon, when the gang had finally been "fixed." She and Giles had barely spoken last night, both pasting on too-bright smiles and steering clear of each other whenever possible.

Buffy had watched from the window as his cab pulled away this morning. She'd stood there for a long time.

When Xander had tried to talk to her, to find out what was going on, she had blown him off, telling him she was just tired. Announcing that she had some shopping to do—to replace clothes and household items that had been forever destroyed during the Scoobies' stint as toddlers—she had all but run out the door.

Tara spoke up, her voice hesitant. "Does anyone else…well, remember?" she asked softly. "Because I—I kind of do."

Xander looked relieved. "I thought it was just me," he blurted. "And—and it's all confused. Like, I remember, but I don't really understand it."

"I don't understand it either," Anya offered bluntly. She looked pained. "I have uncomfortable feelings of affection for Buffy and Giles," she told them. "They won't go away."

Tara smiled gently. "They were like your parents," she explained to the ex-demon. "I have those feelings, too."

Willow looked embarrassed. "Last night," she offered, flushing a little, "I was in the kitchen making a snack, and I bumped into the table. Ended up spilling milk everywhere. Buffy walked in, took one look at me, and told me to go take a time-out!"

Xander laughed. "Residual parent-ness. She'll get used to us being full-sized again, soon."

Willow blushed to the roots of her hair. "I went!" she admitted, looking confused.

Tara giggled softly. "I understand," she offered, putting a comforting hand on Willow's arm. "I had a bad dream last night and woke up from it, and laid there for twenty minutes, wishing I could go sleep with Buffy." She flushed. "I mean, actually sleep."

Across the table, Xander's head shot up as a memory flashed back to him. "I did that, too," he said slowly. "When we were kids—I went in and slept with Buffy." He paused significantly. "And Giles."

Willow's jaw dropped. "Buffy was sleeping with Giles?" Her eyes widened. "How? Why?"

Dawn slipped into a chair across from the others. She'd just returned from taking a shower, and she was glad they were all still down here. She'd wanted to talk to them, anyway.

"They were sleeping together. Not, y'know…_'sleeping together'._" She paused. "At least, I don't think so. But _something_ sure happened."

"But…Buffy and Giles…sleeping together…" Xander seemed dazed. "Doesn't that violate all the laws of nature?"

Dawn stiffened, mildly irritated. "They were taking care of you four, around the clock," she objected. "There was one bed left, and it was big enough for both of them. What's the big deal?"

Maybe she shouldn't talk to them about this after all. Not if they were going to be—well, babies about it.

Willow seemed to be thinking about something, very hard. "Kisses," she murmured, closing her eyes as if to better recall. "I wanted kisses…because Buffy and Giles were kissing." Her eyes popped back open. "Wow. _Really _kissing." She was beet red.

"Kissing…" Xander looked sick. "When did this happen?"

"I think it's nice," offered Tara.

"It is," Anya interjected. When they all looked at her, she shrugged. "Kissing Giles, I mean."

Xander whitened. "Anya, we've talked about this. We weren't going to bring that up again."

Dawn had had about enough. "What is _wrong_ with you guys?" she demanded of Willow and Xander. "You've been friends with them for years—they've saved your lives, helped you with your problems…and for the last week, they changed your diapers. And you guys can still sit here and act like the idea that the two of them might find each other attractive is _gross_?" She sighed, disgusted. "Maybe you guys should go back to being babies. You sure don't act like grown-ups."

There was a brief silence following this outburst. It was Willow who finally broke it.

"We didn't mean it like that, Dawn. It's just…this is big. Buffy and Giles—we didn't expect something like this."

"You said you think something happened between them?" Tara asked.

Dawn nodded grudgingly. "I thought they might have gotten together, actually," she admitted. "As in _slept _together." She shot Xander a look that dared him to make a comment. He just stared at her, looking shell-shocked. Her shoulders sagged. "But now I think I must have been wrong," she concluded. "Giles wouldn't have left if something like that had happened."

Anya looked thoughtful. "I don't remember my real parents," she announced, out of nowhere. "But Buffy and Giles made nice ones." She seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded, satisfied. "Yes, I think they'd make a very nice couple. I approve," she added, as if that settled it.

Dawn grimaced. "I wish it were that easy," she told them. "I don't know what happened to make everything go wrong all of a sudden, but now Giles is gone and Buffy's all depressed again."

Tara hesitated. "And we're certain they have feelings for each other?"

"I definitely remember them kissing," Willow put in, still looking a bit stunned by the idea. "A lot. In a bed." She flushed as the memory flashed through her mind again. "Oh, my god. I kissed Giles."

Anya brightened. "It's nice, isn't it?" Xander buried his face in his hands.

"I was _three_," Willow told her, glaring.

"Oh. Well, then that's inappropriate. I hope he didn't use his tongue."

Dawn blew out a breath. "Guys. Can we get back to the point, here?" She turned to Tara. "Yes, I'm sure they have feelings for each other." She brightened. "In fact, I have proof."

She went and dug through her school bag, glad she'd gotten the pictures developed already. Dropping the packet on the table, she pushed it forward, indicating that the others should open it.

They did, and there was a long silence as the pictures spilled out onto the table.

Buffy and Giles, that first morning in Buffy's bed, surrounded by all the children. Buffy, Giles, Xander, and Tara, curled up in Willow and Tara's big bed, snuggled together like a family. Buffy, laughing, as she watched Giles attempt to change Anya's diaper. Giles, watching Buffy rock a crying Tara, a wistful expression in his eyes. Buffy, clutching Xander in her arms, complete with Spaghetti-O hat, face rosy with laughter as she gazed at Giles across the room. The list went on and on.

Willow reached out, lightly touching a picture of all six of them in the bathroom. The Watcher and Slayer were smiling at one another, while around them, naked baby Scoobies turned the bathroom into a war zone.

"How did we miss this?" she murmured, sounding almost awed.

Even Xander seemed to be battling with his emotions. "When did this happen?"

Dawn watched them all as they read the truth in the pictures before them. "I think it happened a long time ago," she said quietly. "But I don't know when, and I don't think they do, either. It was just this week that they really seemed to be going somewhere."

"Look at Buffy laughing," Tara whispered, looking sad. "She looks…happy."

Xander swallowed. "We don't see that very often these days."

Anya was the only one gazing at the photos with open dismay. "Look at this!" she cried, holding up the picture of Giles changing her diaper. "I was small, and sticky, and…what?" she asked defensively.

The tension broke as everyone laughed. "It's okay, An," Xander assured her. "You were three. That's what you were supposed to look like."

Silence again fell over the table, as everyone dealt with this new idea.

"What can we do?" Tara asked finally. "There must be something."

Xander lifted his head, looking thoughtful. "Actually, I might have an idea," he said. "Dawn, did you happen to get double prints?"

* * *

Giles took another long drink of his scotch, staring at the wall. His flat seemed painfully quiet.

It had been two days. Buffy had called twice, leaving too-perky messages on his machine. He knew she was trying to make sure things would be all right between them, and he should call her back—he just didn't think he could face hearing her say the words.

He was still so bewildered by the whole thing. Her attitude had changed, literally, from one moment to the next. It just didn't make sense. He'd tried to talk to her, before he left, but the others were always around, and there had just never been an opportunity. Buffy hadn't even patrolled that night.

Now that he was back in Bath, and she was actually trying to contact him, he perversely found he didn't want to have the conversation after all. He lifted his glass to his lips again, mouth twisted in a bitter smile.

He'd never known he was a coward.

The doorbell chimed, interrupting his thoughts, and he rose to answer it, automatically concerned. No one ever came to his flat.

A deliveryman stood outside the door, smiling impersonally.

"Rupert Giles?" he asked, holding out a medium-sized package. "Sign here, please."

Giles signed, noticing with curiosity the Sunnydale postmark. He closed the door, carrying the package into the living room. Was it from Buffy? What could she be sending him?

His hands shook as he unwrapped the package, and lifted the lid from the box. He caught his breath.

It was a rich, leather-bound photo album. Embossed in gold letters on the front were the words "Family Photos". A folded piece of paper lay beneath it. A short message in careful, childlike letters had been scrawled in blue crayon.

_Dear Daddy,_

_Please come home. Mommy is sad. We miss you lots._

_Love,_

_The Little Terrors._

Trembling, he opened the album cover.

He stared at the photos for a long time. Reaching a decision, he picked up the phone.

* * *

Buffy carried a load of folded laundry up the stairs. She was nervous, and edgy, and trying not to think about Giles. Which was difficult not to do, since she'd received a letter from him today. Special courier delivery. It had been short, and impersonal, telling her only that her new Watcher should be here by five o'clock. She fought back a renewed sense of rejection.

He hadn't even called to tell her himself.

The letter had been signed "Regards," for crying out loud!

The doorbell rang, and Buffy waited for someone to answer it. Belatedly remembering that she was the only one home, she sighed and dropped the laundry at the top of the steps.

"I'm coming," she muttered as the doorbell sounded again. Steeling herself for another Wesley—or worse, another Quentin—she opened the door.

And sucked in a breath.

_Giles._

Without warning, a blinding smile crossed her face. She flung herself at him, hugging him tightly.

"You brought him yourself?" she asked, so relieved she could barely speak. She'd thought he hated her—he wouldn't return her calls, he'd sent her that little note…but here he was.

Getting control of herself, she glanced around, embarrassed. What a first impression.

"Where's the new guy?" she asked, seeing no one.

Clearing his throat nervously, Giles stuck out his hand. "Rupert Giles," he announced formally. "Your new Watcher."

Buffy froze. "Do you mean that?" she whispered, unable to believe her ears. "You're really back?"

He seemed relieved by her reaction. "I'm really back," he assured her. "If, of course, you'll have me."

"If I'll—" Unable to help herself, Buffy laughed. "Oh, my god, Giles—this is…this is…" There weren't words to describe it, so she gave up, drawing him inside. "How?" she asked, as they seated themselves on the sofa. "Why?"

She could hardly breathe while waiting for his response. Against her better judgment, she could feel a tenuous thread of hope bursting to life inside her.

He ducked his head adorably. "You said you wanted me to select someone who wouldn't get you killed," he reminded her. "I didn't trust any of those pillocks to get the job done."

She deflated slightly. It wasn't exactly the declaration of love she'd been hoping for. But, she told herself firmly, he's here. He's here, and that's all that really matters.

"I'm so glad," she managed lamely, when she saw he was waiting for her reaction. The words didn't do the feeling justice—but then, Buffy had never been the best at expressing herself.

Belatedly, she realized he still looked nervous. "Giles?" she asked. "Was there something else?"

He shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Yes, actually," he told her, fidgeting slightly. "It's—well, it's hard to…" He whipped off his glasses, polishing them furiously. "You see," he began again, "something has happened. I didn't expect it, and—well, sometimes, when people are on the front lines together, as we are, it can…things can happen. Unexpected things. Not bad things—of course, this is the Hellmouth," he contradicted himself. "So of course, bad things do happen. But that's not—"

A wave of affection crashed over her as he babbled. God, she loved this man. "Giles," she interrupted him gently. "I just thought you'd like to know…I have no idea what you're talking about."

He gazed at her in bemusement for a moment, then let out a shaky, rueful chuckle. "Bloody hell," he asserted. "I practiced this speech to your front door for fifteen minutes, and I must say, it sounded better then—"

A light bulb clicked above Buffy's head, and she froze.

_(What I am proposing—although I don't wish to seem indecorous—is a-a social engagement.) _

The memory washed over her in a rush. Giles, in the library, earnestly entreating a wooden chair to go out with him. _(I practiced this speech to your front door for fifteen minutes…)_

She sucked in a breath, suddenly aware she was trembling. Tears were gathering behind her eyes. "Giles," she whispered, praying to God she wasn't wrong about this, "I…I have a thing. You maybe have a thing…"

His face brightened slowly, relief and happiness making his eyes sparkle brightly, and he reached for her hand, squeezing it lightly. "How do you feel about Mexicans?" he asked with a shaky laugh.

Suddenly, she was laughing and crying, all at once. She flung herself at him, landing in his lap, joy welling up in her until she thought she would burst with it.

"I _love _Mexicans," she assured him—and then, because she couldn't wait anymore, she was kissing him. It was the sweetest kiss she'd ever tasted—filled with urgency and desperation and the taste of tears and laughter…and it was real. Uncertainty melted away as they grasped each other tightly, each assuring themselves, with their touch, that the wait was finally over.

They were home.

* * *

Outside the window, five figures huddled close together, watching the display. They couldn't hear what was being said, but actions spoke loudly enough.

"We did good," Willow announced, eyes glittering with unshed tears.

Behind her, Xander cleared his throat, manfully fighting a surge of emotions, himself. "Yes, we did," he agreed, his voice only a little hoarse.

Inside the window, the kiss was beginning to get a little steamy. Five pairs of eyes widened, as Giles's hands slipped away from Buffy's waist, skimming upwards to cup her breasts in his hands.

"Uh…" Willow swallowed. Buffy had shifted until she was straddling Giles, and now she was rocking her hips against his, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. "We—we should go, now."

Xander was looking a little green. "I don't need to see this," he muttered, covering Dawn's eyes with his hands. "And neither do you."

"Hey," objected Anya, still focused on the scene inside the house. "We did this—we earned the right to watch."

Tara tugged the ex-demon away from the window. "They deserve some privacy," she told her. "Let's go."

As Buffy and Giles slid to the floor of the living room, unaware of anything but each other, the Scooby Gang headed into the darkening evening.

"I still think we ought to get to watch," Anya was complaining. "We never get to have any fun."

Dawn smiled to herself. Some things would never change.

But some things did, she reflected with satisfaction.

Everything was going to be okay, now.


End file.
